


Anathema

by emotionaldun



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 80s/90s references, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Anxiety, Bisexual Lance, Cheesy, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual depression, Heartache, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moving, Psychological Drama, Smut, Some Humor, bipolar nyma, broganes, drama 24/7, honestly just gets worse each chapter but STILL GOOD, keith is shady, lance is constantly sad and deserves better, lance justs wants to be loved and appreciated, some dank asf music references, tags get added as we go on alright my dudes, this got emo real quick, time skip (very small but nonetheless), you heard of emo keith now get ready for emo lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 72,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8351569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emotionaldun/pseuds/emotionaldun
Summary: ＡＮＡＴＨＥＭＡ:something or someone that one vehemently dislikes; a disgrace; bête noire๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑ ๑Lance Ramirez was exiled from his own home, being sent half-way across the country to live with his homophobic grandfather and his girlfriend. During his period of being banished, he becomes interested in the stranger who lives next door: Keith Kogane. Not only does the neighbor and Lance have a strange introduction, the entire atmosphere around Keith is mysterious and rather peculiar to Lance.Who is Keith, and why does Lance's life drastically change because of him?





	1. ONE: Waiting Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which keith has a strange similarity to hester prynne idk why maybe it's because i'm reading The Scarlet Letter now in AP English
> 
> IT'S A TOTALLY SERIOUS STORY THOUGH. JUST THAT HE REMINDS ME OF HER.

The moment finally arrived – after a whole year with his grandparents, Lance was back in his hometown of Cañon City, fingers tickling his anxiously-shaking wrists. _This is the right time to do it, Lance, don’t worry. They won’t be disgusted_.

 

Shrugging off his incoming anxiety, Lance stepped onto the patio of his best friend’s family cottage, nervously biting his bottom lip while weakly assuring himself that it’ll be alright. With a dozen of fleeting words, his knuckle collided into the wooden door, impatiently shifting around after nobody was coming.

 

“Wait, I’m almost there, just wait!” Pidge, who was adopted by Hunk’s family, was yodeling dramatically, feet pitter-pattering so loud, even Lance could distinguish the sound. After a few seconds, the door was flung wide open, Pidge’s glasses reflecting the insanely-bright summer sun. Lance’s awkward, lopsided grin had no effect on Pidge, who squinted their eyes at him for what felt like hours. “Who the fuck… holy shit, wait – Lance? Lance, Lance Ramirez?”

 

Lance jerked his shoulder up, uncomfortably waving at the disbelieving friend he hasn’t seen in his year away to be _cured_. “Hey, Pidge… yeah, it’s me.” His index rubbed underneath his nose, eyes scanning anything else nearby besides Pidge. “ ‘S been a whil- “

 

“ASSHOLE!”

 

Confused, he switched his gaze back onto Pidge, who physically tackled him to the ground in .25 seconds, nearly breaking his arm by placing Lance into a death-lock. Tapping out vigorously, Pidge’s devious demeanor gradually changed into worry, eyeing Lance from his now-distorted head, all the way to the tip of his shoes.

 

“You… lost a lot of weight.”

 

“L-Let’s not talk about that! Is Hunk here? I wanted to visit and reconcile- “

 

A carton of eggs dropped onto the rickety-patio stairs, yolks almost landing in the same exact space that Pidge was pinning Lance down in. Hunk’s surprised gasp was overdramatic, as he tended to be, and joined in on the wrestling session, Lance heaving once his body plopped down onto Pidge.

 

The entire time, Hunk’s irreplaceable battle-cry pierced his eardrums, undoing a year’s worth of silence and _therapy_. “Lance, Lance, Lance, Lance, Lance, Laaanceeeeeeeeeee!”

 

Maneuvering his sore hands, Lance clapped both of their backs, signaling for them to get off. “Yeah, it’s me, buddy. Let’s discuss this over tea before I die of asphyxiation.”

 

\--

 

Sipping the last drop of peach tea from Hunk’s black-kitty cup, Lance’s gaze lifted up once more, an interrogative-vibe floating around in the room: Pidge in their permanent-sitting Thinker pose, and Hunk idly whistling in the air, stealing glances every few seconds. With a sigh, Lance sunk in the too-comfortable seat, pursing his lips while contemplating what to say. He’s been absent for their whole junior year, and now he’s miraculously back from the trek he never mentioned to either one of them, only remaining in contact via Snapchat and messages. It’s only natural for the three once-best-friends to be in a tense atmosphere: Lance left without a trace or clue of where he would be. For a reason he wasn’t even _sure_ of until he arrived.

 

The growingly-agitating tapping of Hunk’s feet made Lance snap, repositioning himself once again and speaking before he could come up with the right words. “Um, well, sorry I left without telling you guys… it was, it really wasn’t my choice.” Pidge’s glasses did that creepy anime-sparkle while leaning back, motioning for Lance to continue on with his ever-so-elegant way of broadly discussing important matters. “Aaaah, I stayed with Abuelo Antunes – not because I wanted to – and it was such a drab town. Floral City is the worst place in the United States, I swear… nobody even wants to live in Florida in this day and age…” Getting off topic once again, Lance coughed into his fist, attempting to recollect his thoughts on the right path. “Shit, I have no idea on where to start-“

 

Pidge interrupted Lance by snorting, crossing their arms defensively. “Tell us the whole thing, Lance. You’re way too skinny for something to not have happened when you were ‘away.’ It’s been 15 months, and you went from 173 pounds to… _this_.” Lance cursed himself out – if it was only Hunk and him in this room, the conversation would considerably be less awkward, and easy. “From the first second you knew you would be sent away. Let’s hear it, you gone girl.”

 

“First of all, rude. Secondly…” The Death Stare™ that may have been a reason why Lance’s mom stroked out once, was shooting straight into his heart, gulping from the non-existent impact. “Ugh, fine, whatever, I’ll start from square one… but it’s a long story, and if you cry, or even feel bad for me, I will throw you out of this house. And it’s not even my house – sorry, Hunk. Anyways, since you’re unrelenting, let’s get this over with.”

 

**⁂**

 

“Mama, why is my light turned on? I could have sworn I turned it off- “. Lance stopped dead in his tracks, his mother and father both sitting on the nude mattress, all of his posters and clothes scattered on the stained rug. A suitcase was packed to the brim, his lucky boxers and favorite Santa socks slipping out from the barely-open hole. “What… what’s all of this?”

 

Mascara-tears were plastered on his mother’s cheeks, a repulsed, vexed expression toying on her face. Multiple questions were flying through Lance’s head, trying to connect the pieces together – but to no avail; he was more clueless than a piece of dried-up gum.

 

Slapping his legs, Lance’s dad stood up from the broken-in bed, disappointment and disdain written all over his every move. “Lance, your mother and I have been talking for a while about your… _behavioral_ issues.” Heart sinking, Lance immediately figured out what the connotation was behind his choice of words, hands unconsciously balling up into fists. “You don’t clean your room, you don’t take your medication properly, you act like some psychopathic robot with no feelings – sometimes we ask what we’ve done wrong to deserve two kids with problems,” Mama’s bowed-head nodded in agreement, Lance’s mood taking a turn for the worst in a record speed. “We think it’s time for you to be institutionalized- “

 

“No. _No_!” In a frenzy, Lance picked up whatever he could from the floor – which happened to be the Best Brother mug his younger sister bought him for Christmas four years back, and hurled it to the freshly-painted apartment walls, ceramic shards dispersing across the wrecked room. “You can’t do that, there is nothing fucking wrong with me! Why have you been acting like this since I came out?!” His words struck a nerve inside of his father, who slapped Lance with extreme force behind it. Mama never even made a single move, nor did she flinch when her bisexual son was hit by his own blood and kin. Falsely laughing, Lance lifted his stinging-face upwards, mouth parting into a cocky expression. “So that’s how it is, huh? You think that it’s a bad thing for me to like both girls and boys? Well, fuck you!”

 

“Watch your language, Lance!”

 

Infuriated, Lance knocked down the sanitizers and memorabilia left standing on his dresser, yelling so loudly the neighbors started to pound on the door after a few moments. “Fucking Christ, this is ridiculous! I can’t even be in peace in my own room! You two are the worst damn – “

 

“This isn’t _your_ room, this is _our_ house,” His dad corrected, poking Lance’s chest so powerfully, he fell back into the dresser once again. “And _you_ don’t live here anymore, so take your bags and leave, you disgusting piece of shit.”

 

Lance wasn’t sure what emotions he was experiencing at the time: rage, astonishment, grief, betrayal… or a compound of them all together. The sophomore-ID photo was placed on top of the messily-organized suitcase, and his eyes wouldn’t focus on anything else, too afraid to show a sign of weakness to the people who gave birth to him.

 

Finally, his last resort was to act petty, which came as natural to him as if it was a recited line in a play. Aggravated to no end, Lance squatted down onto his knees, hurriedly throwing everything left in his room into the school bag he was wearing on his back, and the jam-packed suitcase that could almost beat his own weight. He was over this town; he was over trying to live a double-life… he was done with never feeling like _himself_. No matter where he went, his anxiety and depression followed him like a ghost, and he never had a place to relax beyond Hunk’s cottage.

 

Liana, the younger sister with Intermittent Explosive Disorder, had peeked her head throughout the tiny opening of Lance’s bedroom door, watching the whole scene take place. Lance, however, didn’t notice she was there until he was hastily excusing himself from the two people who exposed their true, ugly colors to him after 16 years. With a sad smile, and a mouthed ‘call me later,’ Lance left his family behind, an indescribable pain pounding into his heart with each step. Forcing himself to take his mind off of Liana and his father fighting in crazed Portuguese, Lance made his way to the airport on his own, following the directions his nearly-dead phone gave him. Attached to the student-ID card, was a neon-pink sticky note that had an address that seemed familiar to him, but he had no clue why.

 

Instead, he left it to the future-him to figure it out, and prepared himself to be thoroughly checked-out in the airport security.

 

\--

 

Lance remembered why the town of Floral City sounded recognizable – his grandfather lived there, along with his Catholic girlfriend.

 

He wanted to board back to Colorado the moment he landed in Orlando, but that was impossible: without any money, skills, or shelter, he would get nowhere by himself. The only choice he was able to choose from, was bunking with his problematic family members.

 

With a sigh, Lance dug out his nearly-dead phone, and scrolled through to find his grandfather’s contact. He had no choice, but to ask where his extended family was waiting for him, since there was no possible chance of going back home to his mother and father during all this turmoil. As soon as Lance tapped the dreadful contact, there was a world of opportunities exploding before his very eyes, no longer being subjected to what was around his hometown. Maybe he’ll find something interesting enough to be a hobby, or meet new people that would understand him, or even… fall in love.

 

The airport’s escalators were packed of families leaving, and business men traveling back home, and there was Lance, who stuck out like a sore thumb, navigating his way across the venue by the guidance of his grandfather’s staticy-voice from the phone call. By the time he made it outside of the terminal, his grandfather was honking his horn, a raspy-voice heckling all the cars in his way.

 

Lance was never as embarrassed as he was right in that moment.

 

With a dramatically-prolonged sigh, he sped towards the tacky Nissan, a myriad of profanities and complaints flinging around his overactive brain. By the time Lance arrived at the horrendous car, he already planned out fifty-seven, and a half, plans of how this could go wrong.

 

“Ya’ slow as fuck boy, get in the damn car before I shove m’foot on the gas! Ain’t got time to be waiting!” The country accent hit Lance with a brick of unfamiliarity – when was the last time he spoke to his extended family? Whether he realized or not, life was on the route of change, and it was a non-stop ride ‘til the dead end. Surprisingly, the dreaded girlfriend who was twenty-years-too-young for his grandfather was not in the front seat, and Lance positioned himself in the front seat, the Nissan dungy and loaded with stains, food wrappers, and spilled drinks.

 

Lovely. “Speakin’ of hurryin,’ I betcha that lil’ Asian fella next door will be gettin’ in trouble again tonight. Swear to God, I never get some peace and goddamn quiet,” his drowsy speech alarmed Lance, and he hoped that the drive to his house would not involve a speeding ticket, or an accident.

 

\--

 

Not even the second Lance recognized the street name, an even-more familiar song woke him up from his trance. The ambiance of bass from “AGUST D” rumbled throughout the whole entire street, somebody smoking on the fence next to his grandfather’s house.

 

It’s an understatement to claim that the old man was _unpleased_. “You lil’ fuck… get your punk ass off my property!” Throwing his now-empty bottle of Coke at the boy, a bit of it splashed down onto Lance’s jeans, and the neighbor gracefully swung his legs off the fence. His grandfather was so grouchy and infuriated, that Lance was positive he got whiplash from pulling into the awkward suburban driveway.

 

But… _who was that next door_? Before he could glance over to the house next door, the boy was gone - and the best look Lance had of him, was his pale arms.

 

Slightly disappointed, Lance slung the extremely-bulky bags onto his shoulders, finding his own way throughout the house. An empty room was calling his name, and it appeared to have the bare necessities on a shelter: a mattress, lamp, and dresser. He was grateful, and blessed, that he managed to buy himself a laptop before getting kicked out, or he would have been suffering.

 

A sudden flicker of light came from outside his window, and the inevitable curiosity clung to him with such intensity, that he peeked out of the curtains to see what it was. It was-

 

Something was launched to the back of his head, and with multiple octaves of “ _ow_ ,” Lance spun around, and was greeted with the presence of The White Witch: his grandpa’s girlfriend, only fifty, and a bible down by his feet.

 

Uh-oh. “Valeria explained everything to me, and we ain’t havin’ none of that… **_homo_** bullshit in this house, under my rules. Y’don’t like it, there’s always th’streets.” The White Witch lit her cigarette inside of Lance’s new room, blowing a puff of toxins straight into his direction, knowing well how terrible his lungs were after having pneumonia twice.

 

An instantaneous hatred – the smile she wore, one of crooked teeth and twisted truculence, hid layers of nefarious intent and bigotry.

 

The second after the lady left the room, Lance catapulted the holy book out of the very window he was creeping out of, having no remorse for getting rid of it, considering the _demon girlfriend_ already tainted it with her homophobia.

 

Goodbye, freedom.

 

\--

 

Even though it’s been two days, Lance was forced to attend school, and he found it odd that his ‘punk ass’ neighbor hasn’t showed up once after that spectacle. Contrary to his grandfather’s warning, no police sirens pierced his ears at two in the morning, nor was there cigarettes tossed into their backyard, and especially no dirty laundry was hanging on their side of the fence. Maybe there was a chance, even the slightest possibility, that the mysterious boy would miraculously attend class today, and they’d have one together.

 

What he wasn’t expecting, though, was to find the said-boy in the back of the courtyard, hacking into a laptop’s system with his left hand, and smoking the hell out of a cancer stick in the right. Clearly a reckless, and quite deadly, combination of activities. And Lance was feeling a wave of boldness course through his veins, and plopped his damn-self down next to the stranger.

 

“You know, smoking’s bad for you.”

 

 _Immediate regret_. The boy’s irritated eyes were more sharp than any steak knife could ever be, and the intimidating aura was multiplied by the crimson-red dyed hair, silver nose ring, and a bruise on his neck… _was that a bruise_? With every movement, the lengthy forest-green cardigan slipped off his left shoulder, scooting himself to be in Lance’s direction.

 

Twirling the cigarette in his fingers, he blows a puff in the opposite way, the wind carrying it further away from the two. “Does it bother you?” Pulling out the left earbud from his ears, the hum of “Danger” by _BTS_ made the whole atmosphere around the stranger lighten up, Lance gulping from how surprisingly attractive the boy was. Especially the exposed skin from his baggy cardigan – something as innocent as that was killing him, and Lance wasn’t sure if he was more ashamed of his choices, or too interested in the other boy at that point.

 

“My lungs aren’t in the best condition, and that stuff can kill you. Wouldn’t you want to live on for Jimin?” Lance pointed his index finger at the boy’s earbuds, a perplexing-grin growing on the stranger’s lips, never seeming to open them up beyond speaking. _How intriguing_. “Plus, I hate to be the one to be a stickler, but smoking on school campus is bad enough for your legal records. And you’re literally hacking on the same school premises.”

 

A fragment of a smile was on the boy’s lips, actually paying attention to Lance’s probing and making eye contact. “Money’s hard to come by,” The tone was simultaneously teasing and earnest, shivers being sent down the entirety of Lance’s frame. “Plus, you should know better than to hang out with someone like me. You moved in next door, right? Your… grandfather, I presume, would skin you alive if he found out you were around a ‘punk ass’ in school.”

 

Pursing his lips in, Lance felt as if he was personally responsible for his asshole of a grandfather’s actions, and bowed his lanky-self downwards to the stranger. “Fuck him, he’s a dick for what he did, and I apologize on his behalf,” Slightly raising up from his apologetic stance, his boldness was multiplying each second, securing eye contact with his unknown neighbor. “It’d be nice to know you. The name’s Lance.”

 

Smoothly extinguishing the fire on the bud of his cigarette, the shorter boy stood up from the dewy grass, brushing off any specs of dirt and ash from his disheveled cardigan, “S’nice to meet you, Lance.” A wide smirk developed on his face, and Lance felt tsunamis and hurricanes coinciding in his stomach. The devilish, and strangely seductive expression was enough to flood him with millions of emotions. “I’m Keith, and I’m going to be late. S’you later?”

 

Before Lance could collect the pieces of his sanity and pair them back together, the boy – Keith – was out of his vision, the double doors of the school’s front entrance swaying a couple of times before they finally sealed shut. Not only was he utterly fucked after that wickedly attractive grin, he was late on his first day.

 

And Keith forgot his pack of cigarettes on the wet grass he was lounging on only minutes before.

 

\--

 

Teachers can be categorized into two types of people – completely despicable assholes, or the most angelic creatures to bless the system.

 

Lance’s luck was outright trash, and he ended up detesting majority of his eight teachers, not having any of the electives he asked for, and no lunch period every-other day. _Thanks Math. Thanks Diophantus. Thanks Hipparchus. Algebra 2 and Trigonometry can kiss his Cuban ass for all he cared_.

 

Throughout the horrendous day he had of lectures and annoying pricks, there were a select few students that Lance didn’t totally abhor: Shay, a pair of siblings (Nyma and Rolo), and a senior who was in his Financial Management class (Allura). Most of the kids were too country, or too closeminded for him, and Lance knew better than to hide his true nature when initiating friendships. When it came to his teachers, two truly stood out to Lance, and had his utmost respect: Mr. Shirogane, and Mr. Coran… who only goes by his middle name. Nobody knows what his first, or last, name is.

 

“Lance~” Shay hugged him from behind, easily picking up the somewhat-chubby, taller boy. “Drama club’s first performance of the year is gonna be tonight! Are you gonna come and watch us?”

 

Pouty lips and squinted eyes; Shay mysteriously knew how to get under Lance’s skin and make him comply with any favor. “Uh… I, I’ll see, Shay.”

 

“Yeeeessss! OMG there’s so many good people at our school, the other districts kinda’ suck. Except Lecanto, but that’s expected. Miles Teller attended their school – I’m getting off topic. You’ll have such a fun time, and it’s always great to be supported on the sidelines!”

 

Lance had to steer his eyes away, the olive-skinned girl’s beam was so dazzling, that he believed someone could lose their sight just by staring at it. And thankfully, for once, he was glad that he averted his gaze to the other side of the hall. A specific person, who’s forest-green shawl was two-sizes too-big for their body, was conversing with the dreamy teacher Lance figured everyone had a crush on – Shiro. About thirty feet away, and he could still make out the bashful smile on Keith’s gorgeous lips. _What was he smiling about_? As if on cue, Shay bumped her hip into Lance’s, eyebrows dancing across their supraorbital ridge. “In love already on your first day? Mmmm, ufufu, who’s the lucky person? Ehhhh, ehhhhh?”

 

Nervously blushing, Lance held out his hand to stop her mischievous babbling, eyes fluttering between the perplexing scene and Shay’s taunting guffaws. “He- he is not the object of my affections – “

 

“Who says _object of affections_ in this day and age?”

 

“ – Plus, I just got here only a few days ago, it would be whack as hell to already be crushing. Keith’s just cute.” _Whoops_. Lance intended not to even mumble his name to someone else, especially the Sweet-and-Prying-Shay, but it slipped out without warning.

 

Instead of a cheesy and ridiculing countenance, Shay’s composure crumbled down, a worried expression spread across her face. “Oh, Lance… I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Tapping the tips of her shoes onto the linoleum floor, Lance stared at her for an explanation, goosebumps visibly appearing on her arms. “Um, it’s not really my business, but I think you’re walking into parlous territory, bud. Keith, uh, Keith Kogane is famous in these streets, and not for a good reason. It’s more…” The seven-second pause made Lance worry ever so slightly, wondering what could possibly make Shay shudder at the thought of him, “infamy.”

 

What sort of notoriety could give him such a bad reputation? Peering over his shoulder, Lance observed Keith from afar, taking notes of his behavior and actions whether he was conscious of it, or not. The way Keith would duck his head down when giggling, or how his neck was exposed, loaded with multiple shades of purples and blues. The odd despair in his slumped-over stance.

 

 _Who was Keith Kogane really_?

 

 The school bell rung again, resonating throughout the decrepit brick walls and cheap lockers, signaling that all the busses were no longer in the parking lot. Lance cursed himself for staying behind this long, and bid his goodbye to Shay, speed-walking down the now-empty hallway. Inquiries linked together in his brain: anything related to his _neighbor_ formed into the most peculiar of questions, and built connections together with unbreakable chains.

 

Tapping his address into the GPS app, Lance had chills electrifying every inch of his body with each thought of Keith, mindlessly navigating his way back to his current home. Nothing seemed suspicious about the boy, but why was he unsettled this much about what Shay said? Was he truly unsettled, or was it his unwavering curiosity confusing him? Baffled, and exhausted, Lance unlocked the front door after fifteen minutes of baseless inquisition, skidding his bag across the floor to the couch.

 

Nobody was home, and he was grateful that something worked out today.

 

Throwing aside his education and responsibilities, Lance trudged into his bedroom, spraying Lysol to conceal the witch’s smoke that resided in the walls and vents, and plopped down on the bare mattress. The bare room was now loaded with his old photography class’ pictures, and the posters he packed up from Colorado. Besides that, he was waiting for his shipments of blankets and bedframes to _finally come_. Yawning, Lance let himself fall asleep, purposely forgetting any work he had to do and promising he’d do it the next morning. The tranquil blankness that came with closing his eyes comforted Lance, and before he realized, slumber took over his consciousness.

 

\--

 

_“I wish I was in love but I don't wanna cause any pain,  
and if I'm feeling like I'm evil, we've got nothing to gain…”_

 

Blearily, Lance shook off the towel – his replacement for a comforter – to find the source of the loud song, rubbing his eyes for better vision. Snores were coming from his grandpa’s bedroom, and Lance figured it would have to be from one of the neighboring houses.

 

However, Lance was still torpid from his seven-hour nap, the time being nine o’clock sharp. Sliding the curtains to the other side, he peered out from the foggy window, and still couldn’t exactly make out where the source of the disturbance was coming from – and cluelessly, he propped up the bottom half of the window, searching outside from the comfort of his own room.

 

The crisp autumn breeze did no justice to Lance’s now-burning skin, a slate-colored lighting showcasing the silhouette of a body in Keith’s window. They were beginning to undress, and the second that the person threw the loose cardigan to the left side of the room, Lance realized that it was, in fact, Keith Kogane. Guilt coursed throughout his entire frame, but Lance couldn’t look away – no, he was too hypnotized and appalled by the sensual scene to even pay attention to anything else.

 

Ambiance from the song was enough to send shivers down his spine, ogling at the blurry backside of his neighbor.

 

Keith curled his index finger, beckoning whoever was in the room to come to him. “A Little Death” started blasting from the other house, a figure with bleached-white hair wrapping his arms around Keith’s neck. Lance couldn’t believe his own eyes – the enigma of a boy, his neighbor, was getting laid right before him. The unknown figure placed a lecherous kiss on Keith, slamming his left hand against the window. His perception was increasingly becoming less blurry, and Lance made out an abundance of recently-formed lovebites, hickeys, and scratches on Keith’s back.

 

Nails scratched against the window, leaving skid marks – and out of the blue, Keith was flung down onto the edge of the bed, the only part visible to Lance’s eyes. It was as if a predator, full of lust, was dining on their own prey… yet with each passing second, he felt his own appetite doubling. The moment the white-haired man straddled Keith, Lance knew he couldn’t deal with watching anymore, and swung himself the other way, panting heavily.

 

 _Was that real? Is this just some steamy, hormonal fever dream_?

 

Either way, Lance one-hundred percent registered that he was attracted to Keith, whether this spectacle was real, or an illusion. After catching his breath, he hurriedly shut his blinds, and dug out his computer, clicking on a copious amount of internet sites related to his search of ‘I am gay for my neighbor and I want to die of embarrassment.’ Nothing helped, or comforted, the fact that Lance was a goner.

 

\--

 

Waking up was not Lance’s forte. And that is completely an understatement.

 

It was six-twenty in the morning, and his grandfather was pouring freezing-cold water and ice on Lance’s body.

 

“H-h-holy sh-“

 

“Get y’damn ass outta the bed, you gon’ be late! Ain’t having another call about ya’ missing first period!”

 

Recoiling into his soaked towel, Lance’s teeth chattered from the sensation of cold water, brutally waking him up from the horrible sleep(s) he had. Getting a few flicks to the forehead, he finally sat up on the mattress, dark circles clouding his usually-clear skin. With a cocky chortle, his grandpa stomped out of the bedroom, occasionally snorting.

 

Thankfully, Lance’s phone was under his pillow (a decorative couch one), and remained intact despite the pot of water being dumped on his body. His entire feed of notifications was from Shay, and a few from Pidge and Hunk – although, he was _not_ in the mood to deal with anyone. Coffee was luring him into the kitchen, and nothing would stop him from guzzling down the entire damn pot. Dangling his legs from the squishy-mattress, he slipped into his Harry Potter slippers, languidly plodding down to the kitchen.

 

Another token of luck was used: the witch was not awake, and his grandfather was taking his sweet time in the bathroom.

 

A sleepy grin replaced his frown, as he poured the still-steaming coffee into the superglued Best Brother mug he patched up before coming to Floral City, a fond nostalgia flowing through his mind. With each gulp, Lance was becoming more aware of the current stage of his life, contrition curbing out any remnants of panic he experienced last night. _Would his parents ever come to terms with his sexuality_? The most terrifying moment of his life, was when he stared into the eyes of his own parents – the people who gave him life – and witnessed aversion and homophobia clouding their judgement.

 

Taking the last somber sip of his scorching coffee, he let out a sigh, trying to come back to the present rather than suffering in the memories of the past. It was now six thirty, and Lance was in a rush to finish in time for the bus in twenty minutes, dressing into whatever came first in his pile of clean clothes.

 

“Boy, do I need to pull ya’ damn _ass_ out to the bus stop by _force_?!”

 

The sound of a belt being whipped against the air was enough to startle Lance, and he bolted out the door, almost forgetting to put on his backpack. If his grandfather was some kind of a clairvoyant monster, he was surely right that now was the best time to go to the stop – considering that the bus driver was honking her horn for the students to hurry up.

 

Nearly tripping on the muddy-bus steps, Lance was on a quest to find an empty seat, strolling down the small walkway with caution. The bus driver was not having any of his shit, clearly, and drove off without him even sitting down, Lance flying into the seat on the left of him. Whoever sat next to him, was playing familiar song – no, it was even on his own iTunes – so loud that it pierced his ears. Once the chorus came in, Lance finally had enough courage to see who he accidentally sat on… whose thighs radiated warmth on his own.

 

“Uh… would you mind scooting over?”

 

All of his fortune dissipated in the span of twenty seconds, and the hair on Lance’s back shot straight forward. Not only did his clumsiness bring him to sit on a person’s thighs, the person was none other than Keith Kogane. The knot in Lance’s stomach expanded to the size of Jupiter, carelessly taking in the captivating appearance of the man his butt was nearly touching. His plaid flannel was rolled up to his elbows, showcasing a tattoo of the yin yang symbol on both of his wrists: the one on the right having the black on top, and the left having white first. He was absolute perfection in Lance’s eyes, and everything he shoved to the back of his mind was brought back to his attention.

 

“A-ah, um, sorry… I didn’t have time to find-“

 

The most lovely, gorgeous, and boisterous laughter he ever had the chance to witness was erupting out of Keith’s throat, and Lance couldn’t help but examine every inch of his features. Instead of bowing his head, it was fully blown back, chest vibrating with each breathy chuckle. Genuine emotion seeped out from Keith, the atmosphere between them oozing positivity. “You are so clumsy, that’s cute. And it’s fine, really. The number of times this bossy lady made me fall? It’s ridiculous. And embarrassing.” All Lance could focus on, was Keith’s morning voice, and the way he cooed on the word _cute_. “But you’re sure you’re alright? You have dark circles, and that was a hefty blunder.”

 

Vehemently nodding his head, Lance averted his eyes to Keith’s phone to find out what song was now on pause, _Sir Sly_ artwork fading out to a notification. Before Keith curled up in his seat to text back, Lance read a couple of words the split second allowed: _“Put $400 into your account for last n...”_

 

Lance knows very well how meddlesome he is, but now that he wasn’t able to finish reading the text, he wanted to know every possible thing about Keith. _Why was he hacking? Smoking? Getting freaky on a school night_? Squinting down the conundrum of a human, Lance gently picked at the cuticles of his thumbs, contemplating what Keith’s life _truly was like._

_Why an unknown number would deposit four-hundred dollars into his bank account. Why he was known for disgraceful reasons. Why Shay had goosebumps when he brought up Keith’s name._ This was uncharted territory, or in Shay’s words, _parlous territory_. Despite all the caution signs and warning signals, Lance refuses to turn down any chance to figure out why he was unconditionally enticed by his enigma of a neighbor, and just what makes Keith Kogane such a mystery.  

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the third story I have done that I titled "Anathema," and I plan to actually FINISH this one. 
> 
> Lance's last name is changed AGAIN because I still like a Cuban last name better for his character, but his mom & dad are both mixed (portuguese & cuban) because i LOVE making my OCs resemble my life!  
> fun fact: i am spanish, panamanian, italian, irish, french, & maya indian
> 
> lmao for the first chap. i based the sex scene on this video bc it's one of my top favorite yaoi edits and i LOVE IT https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2021e3nKlho
> 
> let's get emo, my friends!


	2. TWO: Starboy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which i wrote this chapter on like 5 different days and completely forgot where i left off, so it's kinda shorter than the first chapter. drama is brewing on the second day and i LOVE IT i'm a hoe for drama that isn't mine
> 
> trigger warning: mentions of blood/abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i titled this after The Weeknd song don't test me

“You completely _abandoned_ me last night!”

 

Lance hummed in shame at Shay’s commentary, the soothing lyrics of _The Smiths_ flowing out of her phone. “I passed out, I would have gone… but it’s just been a stressful week, you know?” Beyond Shay’s intimidating squinting, Lance knew that her anger was lessening with each nanosecond, ultimately sighing before they turned into the hectic cafeteria. Seniors and Juniors occupied most of the malodorous room, and Lance’s eyes instantly noticed the crimson-red hair of his neighbor, now placed in a low ponytail.

 

And, boy, was that hairstyle doing _things_ to Lance.

 

Subconsciously running his tongue over his bottom lip, he tried to pry his eyes away from the lone boy, sitting by himself at the six-seated table, but failed in doing so. Stopping in his tracks, Lance felt a surge of courage flood his rationality, spinning around to face Shay’s perplex expression. “Listen, I’d love to chill out to Oasis and David Bowie for my first lunch period of the school year, but…” Trailing his eyes over to discretely direct her attention to Keith, he hoped Shay would catch on to his silent farewell.

 

“Ooooooh, I see, I see. Leaving me for your pursuit in romance, eh?” Dramatically faking heartache, Shay placed her two palms over her heart, gasping with such brash vigor. “I… I am hurt.” Pouting, Lance repeatedly blinked his eyes, pleading for Shay to understand and accept his parting. About half a minute later of begging, and discarding any ounce of dignity Lance held onto, Shay groaned in agreement, patting Lance’s shoulder for good luck.

 

Lance owed Shay _bigtime_ for being such a good friend, and he made a mental note to buy her something after school for an apology… something that would scream: ‘ _Sorry I’m totally leaving you for the hot piece of ass that lives next door for the second time this week, but I love and appreciate the living hell out of you_.’

 

Navigating his way throughout the slew of jocks and hyperactive kids was worth it in the end, even if he almost tripped over the wasted food on the floor seven times, because he had been blessed with an opportunity to converse with Keith Kogane. _The guy he creepily watched getting boned not even a full-day prior_. Storing any memories of the previous night to the back of his brain, Lance tapped the table to receive Keith’s attention, getting an astonished countenance in response to his actions.

 

Bashfully waving, Lance displayed the best smile he could under such awkward conditions, the itch to pick at his cuticles bubbling up inside. “We meet again.” The moment after he blurted out those words, instantaneous regret coursed through his veins. _If he could be smooth with every person back in Colorado, why was he such an unexperienced tool when it came to Keith Kogane_?

 

Digging his chin into his left palm, Keith repositioned himself on the uncomfortable plastic seat, a miniscule lift appearing at the corner of his lips. “Hey, Lance. You have a lunch during fifth period?”

 

 _How is it humanely possible to look that ravishing when your cheek’s pressed up on your hand_? Lance’s self-esteem dropped to an all-time low, remembering the photo Pidge took of him at his house when he was dozing off in the exact pose Keith was in, and how his cheeks resembled the fattest chipmunk that ever lived. “A-ah, um, yeah. Every other day, though! Algebra 2 sucks this early in the morning. I fucking hate Diophantus  & Hipparchus for even thinking of these shitty math topics. Well, to be fair, I hate math in general, even though I like counting my footsteps or finding patterns between the times on the clock. Simple math – yeah – easy math is comforting.” Lance was cursing himself out for not being able to control his tense, anxious babbling, but accepted the fact that he was making a complete fool out of himself. “I’d quit any job that would have a math major required. That would suck, you know? I just get migraines from staring at numbers for too long. Ah, sorry if I’m rambling on, I do that when I’m shy… sorry, I should stop… yeeaaahhhh… I’ll do that.”

 

An uncomfortable laughter lessened the tension Lance was fighting within himself, and the second he peeled his eyes open, they feasted on the stunning simper that was playing on Keith’s lips, a benevolence radiating out of his aura. The faintest of crinkles decorated his slightly-slanted eyes while he fondly nodded at Lance. “Am I making you nervous?”

 

Blazes of heat developed on Lance’s cheeks, and he wondered why such simple words triggered an _enormous_ response on his own body. “Aaaaaah, no! Don’t worry, you would never.”

 

“Then you and I have nothing to worry about. Right?”

 

Against his own will, Lance’s mouth marginally drooped, appalled by the mannerisms Keith possesses. Nobody should be that polite… hell, _all_ his friends had some kind of insolent-quality within themselves. This was exotic; unprecedented. And that feature added ten extra points of attractiveness to the boy he began to pine after.

 

“Oh, since you’re here, I actually had a question for you,” Keith leaned forward, only a few centimeters away from Lance’s face. Chilly breath was gently huffed onto Lance’s chin, but all he could focus on was the way Keith’s front teeth grazed his plump lips, crevices and chasms forming on the smooth surface. “Where’d you move from? I’d like to know a bit about my new neighbor, before your grandfather forbids you to even look in my direction.”

 

Something was awakening inside Lance, and he simultaneously felt on edge, and entirely composed; a walking paradox. Cocking his head to the side, he let his fake cocky and flirtatious side take control, mischievously smirking before speaking. “Cañon City, Colorado. And don’t worry, if he does lock me inside for precautions, I’d still find a way to get in contact. Would you miss me that much?”

 

Swiftly raising an eyebrow in surprise, Keith let out a husky chuckle, eyes darkening once he reopened them. “I don’t know, I think you’d be the one suffering,” Poking his index finger into Lance’s chest to push him back, Keith gave the final blow to his sanity: a wink. “I’m not the type to bring back to your grandparents. Might just _devour_ you before there’s a chance to.”

 

Lance’s breath hitched, and he swore his lungs were figuratively liquefying, especially when Keith teasingly stuck out his tongue. _The Weeknd_ wrote songs about people like this; the population who overflowed with sex appeal, the ones who could leave a lasting imprint with the most plain and basic of actions. Keith was bewitchingly alluring, and Lance was gradually becoming spellbound to him.

 

Keith slumped back into the seat, popping a piece of cinnamon gum into his mouth. “What, no more sly comebacks?” Giving his most-sinister grin, Keith made sure he locked eyes with Lance, relishing in how much the boy was crumbling just from his words. “Fine, ten points to me.”

 

 _Lance was a dead man_.

 

\--

For the rest of the painfully-long day, Lance was spaced out, replaying the frivolous banter non-stop. Even if he managed to miraculously make it home without a scratch on his body, he would not have known if he was hit by something in his state of mind.

 

Mindlessly opening the front door, Lance once again discarded his hefty schoolbag by the discolored couch, and stumbled his way into his current bedroom. The tenacious stench of cigarette smoke was embedded into the wallpaper of the room, and Lance centered in on the peeling, yellowing edges of the shabby-lined pattern. An odd, indescribable feeling plagued over not only his brain, but his heart, too – and having a lack of experience in emotions, Lance was distraught over how his heart worryingly yearned for more, and why it immobilized itself from acting out on its wishes.

 

A sudden crash made Lance jolt from his pondering-position, quickly standing up and running to the door to find the cause of the ear-shattering sound.

 

“Valeria sent him here for a _reason_ , Carlos!”   
  
“I get it, you fuckin’ broken record,” His grandfather waved his hand half-heartedly, taking a draft from the lit cigarette passive-aggressively. “The kid’s into boys, Martha. As long as he ain’t cause any _inconvenience_ , s’not a problem.”

 

Kicking a piece of the broken porcelain vase towards the witch, it seemed like the action ignited a flame under Martha, who shoved the older man into the wall. With a shaky finger, she pointed at the man with a vigor so dangerous, it could scare the spirit out of any person. “That homo’s been talking to the slut next door, and I refuse to let someone as vile as that… _thing_! …That thing speak to anyone even remotely _related_ to me!”

 

A similar, disdainful glare appeared in the veteran’s eye, lifting his head up at a terrifyingly-slow pace. “Lance has been talkin’ to Keith, eh?” Rubbing his calloused thumb across his chin, a wicked grin took place over his displeased frown, while veins began to pop out all over his arms. “That’s not gonna happen for much longer. Not on my watch.”

 

Lance’s uneasiness doubled with each passing second, witnessing a cold exterior wash over the once-sturdy, light-hearted one that decorated his grandfather’s face – the hair on the back of his neck stood up, instincts kicking into full-drive once the man tore off his belt, and whipped it in the air. The now-dusty slipper forcefully kicked open the door Lance was hiding behind, a shrill rising out of his throat. “Boy, you better stand the fuck up!”

 

Shakily crawling backwards, Lance ended up caged-in by the stained walls, pulse raising to a ridiculously-unhealthy number. “A-abuelo? What, what are you- “

 

The buckle on the leather belt whipped across Lance’s left cheek, a gruesome bruise already forming, and blood trickling down the wounded area. “No nieto of mine will speak to that fucker next door! You’re banned from speaking to him – y’hear me?!”

 

 _“…. Before your grandfather forbids you to even look in my direction.”_  
“… Don’t worry, if he does lock me inside for precautions,  
 I’d still find a way to get in contact.”  


  
Collapsing in on himself, Lance brought up his forearms to shield his face from getting smacked again, spitting out a shocking amount of blood and skin from his mouth. Bellicose feelings seeded themselves into the gut of Lance’s courage, and without thinking about his course of action, he revealed his eyes from his defensive stance, the pupils of his eyes darkening with a sense of rebellion. “Por supuesto…. abuelo.”

 

Rolling up his belt, his grandfather left the room, ferociously slamming the door shut, and Lance let his limp arms fall to his sides, tears streaming down his fresh wound. The excruciating stinging of the slashed-cheek was worsened by Lance’s wide smile, a fake, breathy laugh later transpiring from the hurting boy.

 

Although he was wobbly, Lance stood up from the floor, bare toes curling into the crimson-splattered carpet. “Fuck you.” Without another thought, he pried open the window with his tremulous hands, and safely leapt out from the hellish room, making a beeline straight for the house across the fence.

 

Weakly climbing over the white-picket fence, Lance slumped up to the front door of Keith’s house, fists colliding into his neighbor’s cerulean door.

 

“Coming!” Keith’s voice was barely audible, but after a few seconds, Lance could make out soft pitter-patters of feet, and before he knew it, the door was slightly opened. A few strands of dyed-red hair peeked out from the door, and a single pupil was staring right at Lance, who was fidgeting around on the steps. “Lance? What’s up?”

 

Even though he tried his best to put on a civil expression, it ended up appearing more solemn than ever, and Keith realized the raw-gash on Lance’s face almost immediately. “Um… would you mind if I could stay here?”

 

Sighing, Keith hip-checked the rest of the door to open, greeting Lance with a sympathetic countenance. “Of course, that’s not even a valid question…! Come on in.”

 

“Monster” from _EXO_ was blasting from somewhere within the house, and Lance nodded at Keith with a fond appreciation, entering the barely-decorated house. If his grandfather’s house was considered lived-in, then Keith’s place was… unfurnished. Sparse amounts of artwork were hung up by tacks on the white walls, and plain, charcoal-colored chairs took up the space of the small living room. Beyond that, there was nearly nothing else inside of the house, but Lance didn’t bring it up into a conversation.

 

Gently tapping his fingers to the rapping-verse on his thighs, Lance looked around for Keith, who was idly moving around the room. An uncomfortable vibe branched out from Lance, who chuckled at the tension. “Um… sorry for just barging in. It was more of an impulsive choice, but… I really need somewhere to hide for now.”

 

“No… no, no, it’s fine! Really! I just… wasn’t really expecting anyone tonight.” Keith’s hands fiddled with the hems on his baggy sweater, taking steps closer to the pining boy. “Let me clean up your face, it’s the least I could do.”

 

All of Lance’s resolve to refuse his help was crushed the instant he locked eye contact with Keith, and falling for the determined-look that clung onto each of his facial features. Letting out a repressed huff, Lance caved into the frightening ambition, and let Keith lead him further into the house. The anticipation of Keith’s hands touching his face was germinating inside his heart, and the fight-or-flight sensation was surging throughout his veins.

 

Dabbing the peroxide onto a cotton ball, Keith lightly grazed it on the brutal lesion, Lance grumbling and wincing in pain every so often. Despite the burning sensation spreading across his wound, he couldn’t stop watching Keith, and relished in the miniscule distance between them. Chains of freckles adorned Keith’s attributes, making him even more ethereal in Lance’s opinion.

 

“Alright, I think you’re all patched up now,” Keith reassured, and sealed the rest of the bandage over the wound with his nimble fingers. “Did it hurt that much?” Lance, who absorbed in the bewitching optics of the boy in front of him, wasn’t sure what exactly was hurting him anymore. All he could do was shake his head twice, and a relieved sigh coming from Keith’s mouth from the simple movement. “That’s good… well, now that you’re here, do you wanna go into my room?”

 

An insuppressible blush dispersed on Lance’s cheeks, who had triggered a playback of the previous night’s risqué scene he creeped on. That’s the room where he almost witnessed Keith get it on… and now he was invited into it, for completely innocent reasons – but all he could replay was the copious number of hickeys all over his backside.  “U-uh, sure! Of course, yeah.”

 

Keith gave him a depthless smirk, and beckoned Lance to follow him throughout the quaint house. Everything was conflagrant on his entire frame – from the peroxided-wound, to the blood coursing its way throughout his veins, and the same skin that Keith’s fingers were wrapped around. The modest action was sending bands of fire across every inch of Lance’s body, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he would last before rupturing.

 

Surprisingly, Lance was met with a more-welcoming, homey room than he remembered. The walls were made with wooden panels, and easily made the room feel more spacious than it truly was. Light bulbs were dangling down from a thin-black wire, adding personality to the mostly-plain bedroom. And if Lance was a messy person, Keith was equally just as bad – all the laundry was in a disheveled pile by the closet, which made the two boys snicker.

 

“I wasn’t expecting for your room to be…”

 

“Messy?”

 

“More like… have anything in it at all. I was pretty sure you would have nothing inside, from how the other rooms looked.”

 

“ _Oi_ ,” Keith playfully jabbed his elbow into Lance’s chest, winking at the flustered boy. “Not like it’s nothing you’ve never seen before. I rather keep things simple.” The shorter boy put his hands behind his back, and leaned his head inwards to get closer to Lance. “So, what exactly happened? You look more rough than this morning.”

 

Lance swallowed from the sudden nerves he was slapped with, eyes averting from Keith’s powerful, entrancing glare. “It’s… nothing, really. I kind of want to forget about it.” He let out a timid laugh, spinning around on the balls of his feet to avoid any more questions. “I just need some time to mellow out. You know?”

 

“Lance…”

 

Teeth dug painfully deep into his bottom lip, Lance squeezed his right-index finger between his clenched fist, refusing to gaze behind at the concerned voice’s owner. A chilly palm was over his shoulder, pale fingers sparking massive amounts of voltage amongst his upper torso. Was it possible to collectively feel grief and desire?

 

This was the first time for Lance, who’s never truly experienced such an attraction to another being. Sure, he’s thought of many people as beautiful – boys and girls alike – but never to the point where it’s caused mobocracy inside his heart and brain. His rationality was tampered with; his emotions were chaotic… it was human disarray in its purest form.

 

“Hey, do you want to watch something to calm down? I don’t want a friend to be upset.” The word ‘ _friend_ ’ resonated deeply inside Lance’s core – he wasn’t sure if it was relief that the situation wasn’t going to get more intense, or if he was genuinely disappointed at the title of being only a ‘ _friend_.’

 

After dipping his head in acknowledgement, Keith stepped out of the room for a second, and left Lance alone with his jumbled thoughts.  
  _If we could just pretend, would I be happy by his side? Would his hands fit perfectly in my own? Is there even the slightest possibility that he would like me back_?

 

Staring out the window, he could make out the tiny splotch of red drying up on his smoke-gray carpet, and just the sight of it was enough to send shivers down his spine. Lance realized how discolored his face would be in a few hours, which brought him back down to his somber reality. If Keith was his high, home was his low, and Lance was stuck between a balance of the two.

 

Before he could bring his hand up to touch the wound, a blanket was draped over his shoulders, a couple strands of burgundy-hair coming into view. “I got my laptop, are you more of a _comedy_ or _horror_ fan?”

 

\--

 

 _You’re too good for me_.   
Even though _The Craft_ was on – one of Lance’s all-time favorite movies – all he could watch was Keith’s expressive features. The curtains hid the dreadful room house across from them, and the dim lights made Keith appear to be as elegantly beautiful as a Renaissance painting. From the chiseled chin, to the intimidatingly sharp eyes, all the way down to the tattoos that colored his skin in black-and-white. He knew well just how much of a wild ride he’s been on because of his annoyingly-gorgeous next-door neighbor, yet he still could not mask the looming feeling that was seeded in his consciousness.

 

Lance didn’t even comprehend that the movie was finished two minutes ago.

 

“Uh… Lance… Laaaaanceeee?” A hand was waving in front of his very own face, but he still was not able to grasp the situation. He was occupied within his slew of lascivious ideas. The irresponsive boy made a frown develop on Keith’s face, who gradually inched closer to the airhead next to him. “Can you hear me? Hello?”

 

Lance figured he was dreaming, that maybe he fell asleep in the middle of _The Craft_. The sketchiest grin spread on his lips, drowsily knocking his forehead onto Keith’s. “You’re perfect.” He mindlessly wandered into the _Kill Zone_.

 

About as clueless as the other, Keith figured Lance was joking, and turned up the ‘fake’ flirting to another degree. “You’re not too bad yourself.” The gruffest giggle Keith ever had the chance to hear was strung out from the tan fellow, whose irises were flicking side-to-side.

 

“Nice.”

 

Originally making a duck-pucker to try to stop his laughter, Keith wasn’t expecting for Lance: the usually-shy, reserved one, to boldly bite down on his lips, nor when the corner of his mouth slyly lifted. Keith’s eyes enlarged from the surprising action, and shoved Lance, who brought the blanket along with him, away. His balled-fist was covering his mouth, the tiniest pants of shock escaping from his parted lips.

 

“I… think you need to leave, Lance.”

 

Blearily rubbing his eyelids raw, Lance was perplexed – after all, he figured this was all some kind of twisted dream. When he realized that it was very, very really, it was too late to apologize for his behavior. He was pushed out of the bedroom, blanket and all.

 

“K-Keith?”

 

Nobody responded behind the locked door, a flood of worries drowning Lance’s sanity. “Keith, I’m sorry – I fucked up! I’m really, truly fucking sorry… I’m sorry.” A familiar sting rolled over his cheek, soaking the skin with salty tears. He lost count of how much things have gone wrong already today, and he wasn’t sure where he could go next. There was the menacing house of shame right at his fingertips, with nowhere else to take shelter in. Unless he wanted to bother Shay or Rolo, his best bet was suffering at his grandfather’s.

 

That’s what he did.

 

Reversing the steps he took only a few hours prior, he picked open the wonky window to his room, sloppily landing on his feet. Lance nearly touched the blood-stained patch, but he could care less at that point. Shame was streaming through him as he placed the towel he’s been using as a replacement for a comforter over the red splatters, and rolled himself up in the guilt-inducing one that he stole from Keith’s house.

 

The one that smelled of cinnamon, and now tears.

 

 _Why was he so impulsive? Why has he made so many mistakes in the past few weeks… both here, and back in Colorado? Why does he trust so easily, and end up being the one hurt in the end_?

 

Woeful wheezes strung themselves out of Lance’s throat, which steadily became as rough as sandpaper from all the weeping. Compared to the comforting aroma of cinnamon, he reeked of hydrogen peroxide and salt, and was placed in a state of unease.

 

Even in a world supplied of the most exquisite of things, Lance managed to locate the most depressing, bleak aspects of life, absorbing all the negative parts and abandoning anything positive. He was battered and bruised, inside and out.

 

The drunken slurs of the old grandfather were echoing throughout his eardrums.

The chemicals of cigarettes buried themselves into his lungs.

 

Coughs later replaced his cries, and he was having a difficult time breathing. His inhaler was in his school bag, but Lance knew that if he dared to step outside of his bedroom, he was at risk of receiving another beating.

 

Weakly chuckling to himself, he was uttering grating, hoarse words to stop thinking about the toxins packing inside his lungs. “What’s the big deal about struggling to breath? I already feel like dying.” Facing the foul, vile wall, he concentrated on limiting his amount of oxygen intake, ducking under the blanket to mask the horrendous, lingering smoke.

 

If there’s one thing he knew he could be successful at, that would be running from his impending problems, no matter how big of a mess they would later cause.

 

\--

_“You talking money, need a hearing aid.  
You talking 'bout me, I don't see a shade…”_

 

Who the hell plays _The Weeknd_ at this god-awful late of an hour? Lance was on edge, and for a good reason(s). Once again, he shoved aside his curtains, prepared to yell at whoever was blasting music at three in the morning. When he finally passed out only a couple of hours before.

 

There was Keith, exhaling rings of smoke from his cancer stick. He was leaning over an expensive car about to leave his driveway, a smirk permanently planted on his mouth. Envy was boiling inside of Lance’s stomach, on the verge of spilling out of the container he has kept all his emotions bottled in.

 

“You know, you’re missed big time back in Miami. You coming with the boys for the Christmas bangout?”

 

Even though it was darker than hell, Lance could make out Keith rolling his eyes in response, a flicker of irritation appearing on his face. “I told you, I don’t do that shit anymore. I finally got out of that place, I’m not going back. I make enough money here-“

 

“Yeah, with all these sugar daddies with two wives and a Catholic upbringing. You know you’d make loads more back home.”

 

“I’m fine with being in a white neighborhood. It’s better than risking my life every day.” Keith reached into the car, pressing down the lock button on the driver’s car door. “Go home. See you later.”

 

 _Who would he see later_? _What about Miami_?

 

“You know, maybe you should give me a teacher’s discount.”

 

“ _Bye_!!!!!!”

 

 _The Weeknd’s_ song faded out to nothingness as the ridiculously-expensive car pulled out of the lot, riling down the street. Even though whoever was in that vehicle was already obnoxious to Lance, he was more annoyed by the ‘teacher’ comment. _How does Keith know a teacher? Why was a teacher over at Keith’s house? What was the discount for_? His inquiry was met with no solution. Just a disgruntled Keith, who took one last drag of his cigarette, and smashed it underneath his slipper.

 

Every day, a multitude of questions were created, and they all related back to Keith in the end.

 

\--

 

“Lance! Lance, Lance, I got good new- holy fucking shit. What happened? Wait, you know what? We’re not going to school today. Fuck it. Come on.”

 

Shay dragged Lance away from the school’s bus parking lot, not allowing him to even mutter a ‘good morning’ to her. There was a new Dunkin Donuts across the street that still was full of seniors waiting for their friends to come, the dread of exam season being evident in their eyes.

 

The dread in Lance’s was from more than just exams.

 

Whoever was directing the music playing at the coffeeshop, was added onto Lance’s growing list of _People Who Annoy Him_ , playing the worst songs that strike his heart with a sharpened arrow. “Pork Soda” by _Glass Animals_ was playing at a decent volume, just loud enough to be heard over the country accents and senseless, high speeches about existentialism.

 

“Yeah, can I just get hot macchiato? Thanks.” Shay’s mellifluous voice was a soothing addition to the hellish day, Lance noted, until she shifted her head to his direction after ordering. “I assume something went down last night? You look worse than Marco Bodt after-“

 

“Alright, don’t spoil the story for me.” Lance held up his hand in protest, an undeniable lift occurring in his lips. “I kinda’ got into a… fight with abuelo. He found out I was hanging out with Keith. It’s alright today, though, he was just a bit standoff-ish this morning.”

 

Shay squinted with an immense amount of suspicion in her hum of understanding, hands clinging onto both her hips. “Hmmmm, is that all?”

 

“Yep.”  
“ _Really_?”  
“Mhm.”  
“ _Hmmm_?”  
“Mmmm….”  
“ _Hnnnnn_?”  


 Groaning at Shay’s incessant sounds of interrogation, Lance paid for her cup of coffee, and zoned out after she ranted about him not letting her pay for her own self. In the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar Camaro waiting in traffic, the fingers of the driver tapping along to some inaudible beat.

 

Prosthetic fingers.

 

His nose scrunched up in hostility, trying to think of why the only teacher he knew with a Camaro, in the entire town, was at Keith’s house. Why Shiro, who he had for Forensics, was knowledgeable about Keith’s past.

 

The car may have zoomed past, but the picture was engraved in his head for further inspection.

 

Lance was pulled out from his furious brooding with another warm cup of coffee placed into his hand, a different order than Shay’s. “You sure you want to go to class today? I think you should go home…”

 

“There’s no fucking way I’m going back home now.”

 

A random customer yelled ‘ _watch your profanity_!’ as they presumed to wipe their baby’s face, crumbs falling onto the table. Both Lance and Shay shared knowing looks of irritability, making numerous jokes about the lady on their trek back to the high school. It’s already been a long day, and the first period bell hasn’t even rung yet.

 

For lack of better words, Lance’s day was completely, utterly _fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LISTEN BUD. DRAMA IS MY THIRD MIDDLE NAME. NOBODY WILL MAKE IT OUT UNHARMED. I AM AN ASSHOLE WRITER. 
> 
> also, shay is an innocent baby, i love her, she needed to shine in this book, she is underappreciated
> 
> will rolo and nyma ever make an appearance? will i ever stop writing on weekdays and not on the weekends? will i pull my shit together for this school year? who knows!!!!


	3. THREE: The Other Side of Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lmao welcome to Angst Station, your kinda-weekly dosage of emo angst. 
> 
> i went through 78 mood changes writing this chapter and i don't regret it at all, because this is my favorite chapter i wrote in the past 3 years. i love it with all my heart. it's as dysfunctional and depressing as i am. 
> 
> REFERENCE: when keith comes in at the end, listen to "Just Kiss Her" by Concorde. i was writing these Emo Vibes with this song. also the band is hella gr8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOI things get real this chapter 
> 
> in which lance's grandfather is The Ultimate Dick, keith and lance are both problematic, shay just wants a fun time, rolo is the whitest fuckboy of existence, rax makes an appearance and idk if he'll ever come back, allura is a sleepy babe, and MATH PUNS (i say, as i am barely passing math this semester, the same math course in this chapter)
> 
> ***** trigger warning: mentions of blood/vomit, abuse, semi-sexual content idk its not really anything sexual but just thought i'd put it out there, underage drinking

**Tedious**.

 

Being with Nyma and Rolo, who reeked of weed the entire day, was enough of a problem – add the occasionally-stinging wound and heartache from the previous day, Lance believed this was some twisted version of human-hell. If it wasn’t for Shay, the friend of his dreams, he probably would have lost his temper in first period.

 

Rolo’s tattooed arm was suddenly wrapped around Lance’s neck, his free hand jokingly messing up a bit of his hair. “Lance, Lance, my man… let’s get fucking wasted tonight. You could use some relief.”

 

If he had enough energy to, Lance would have scoffed in response, but Shay already beat him to it. “We’re not going to a party on a Wednesday, unless you actually want all of us to go to jail? Save your breath.” A sigh followed her rejection, while she continued to jab Rolo’s forearm to let go of Lance. “If anything, I have drama practice after school until dinner time, and my brother will be extra pissed if I miss curry night again. He’s so problematic…” The two siblings giggled in understanding at her complaint, and the group made it outside to the bus ramp.

 

Lance gave them a wave goodbye, deciding that it would be a good day to ride the bus home rather than get lost fifty times from walking. At the front of the bus were the kids who were hardcore anime and _Harry Potter_ fans, then the AP kids, the sketchy students that nobody _really_ saw, and lastly: the loners. There was luckily a free spot open, and before anybody else entered, he plopped himself down.

 

Some days were just meant for people to be shaken down, and Lance figured that today would be one of those times.

 

Florida’s leaves were still mostly viridescent amid October’s coldest breezes, and there was comfort to be sought out of with the minimum change. The stagnant weather was a barrier that wouldn’t be broken, and that was somewhat calming.

 

He lost track of time while ogling at the scenery, and the bus driver was screeching at him until Lance finally bolted off the bus, nearly forgetting his school bag in the process. “What a scary lady…” Sighing, Lance dug his hands into both of his front pockets, searching for the spare keys his grandfather gave him.

 

“Hey, Lance!” _Badump_. Whipping his head almost 180-degrees, Lance was staring in disbelief at the ecstatic neighbor he’s been sort-of crushing on for half a week, thanking the Gods for the heavy wind blowing his red locks in every direction. It was admirable – insanely admirable. “I guess you took the bus today for the first time, huh?” His fingerless-gloved hand brushed a couple strands of hair behind his ear, giving Lance a warm, bashful smile that could melt glaciers. “I… hoped you wouldn’t miss today, because I didn’t see you come out of your house in the morning, and nobody I talk to saw you at school. A-ah, enough about that, though! How’s your cheek? Is everything alright?”

 

His mind was thrown into the midst of chaos, all the questions he built in the past twenty-four hours being burnt down into shambles and ash. With a single glance, Lance was under a trance created by Keith, and he was utterly hopeless. A bundle of shyness was dispersing inside of his frame, a fond sense of affection gnawing at his heart. “Um… yeah, I walked there in the morning this time. Shay and I caught a coffee. And, about yesterday… sorry. Never mind: yeah, I’m fine. Nothing much you can do about a bruise, after all.”

 

The moment Lance was about to ask Keith about the previous night, the front door to his house was swung wide open, and panic was instantly bubbling inside of his head, as he heard his grandfather’s slippers scratching against the concrete driveway. Not only was he speaking to Keith, he was only a few inches away from the said-boy, wearing an affectionate, disappearing-grin. Lance was screwed.

 

“Get in the god damn house, boy!” Another slap hit the same cheek from yesterday, almost sending Lance falling to the ground from the harsh impact. “And you… get the hell off m’property!”

 

Keith’s nose scrunched up from the comment as he helped Lance stand back up from his crouched position, blood dripping down the side of his already-bruised face. “Who are you to hit someone like that, you old man? I can call the cops on you, too, for a change.”

 

“Keith… it’s fine,” Lance’s voice was concerningly weak, and tremulous to the point of his words contradicting his mental state. “I’m alright, I should head in. Thanks.”

 

“Lance-“

 

“See you around.” Flashing one last fake, dazzling simper, Lance was shoved into the house by his grandfather, the front door immediately locked the second afterwards. The vase that held the welcoming flowers he received from the other neighbors was sent crashing down to the floor, shards of the painted porcelain digging into the skin that his jeans didn’t cover.

 

Despite his plethora of pleas and whimpers, the elder man’s hand was tightly gripping at Lance’s throat, constricting any air intake he could get. “Did you think we were just playing around? You’ve been sent here for a reason. We don’t have any of you sick _fucks_ in our bloodline, and you ain’t gonna be the first one.”

 

“Let g…o…”

 

An ear-shattering chuckle erupted from his grandfather, the sound coming out distorted and demonic in Lance’s opinion. There were contusions forming under the man’s deathly grip, and a lack of oxygen doubling the amount of pain he felt from the touch. Once he reached the brink of asphyxiation, his oppressor let him go, and Lance’s head banged into the doorknob, hoarsely hissing from how much his body was aching.

 

Curling his fingers into a fist, Lance woozily stared at the disappearing man, cursing himself out for not putting up a fight against his actions.

 

And then Lance thought – _was it truly too late to stand up for himself_? Before his conscience could reprimand him for even thinking of solving his problems with more violence, Lance tore out a piece of porcelain from his ankle, and chased after his grandfather, slashing open the opposite cheek on the wrinkled face.

 

Letting the fragment drop down, Lance gave his best impersonation of the man’s creepy laugh, head tilted up in the most narcissistic way possible. “Now we’re _matching_.” Tossing the bulky bag off his shoulders, he barreled into his room as fast as he could manage to, not paying attention to the elder who was fuming behind him. He was determined to get away from him, and that meant sneaking out from the window once more.

 

Slamming the door in his grandfather’s face, his numb fingers struggled to raise the window up, and he finally caved into his incapability to do so under pressure. Instead, he carelessly swung the lamp’s base into the glass until it cracked open, and plummeted down to the crunchy grass.

 

Even if his limbs resembled jelly, he realized that he only had one other place to go if he didn’t want anything else to trouble him. Lance’s unsteady thumbs were hurriedly typing Shay’s name while the bottoms of his Converse scraped against the run-down street, the sound of gravel and his heart beat filling the empty space inside his head. After barely missing the call button, the phone was creating seldom rings every two seconds, until the soothing voice flooded out the sounds of his racing pulse.

 

“Lance! What’s up?”

 

“Shay? Was… was drama practice cancelled tonight? I really – I need somewhere to stay.”

\--

 

Peroxide and applying bandages has begun to be a daily routine.

 

The caustic waves of pain clustered around the ankles’ incisions, Lance occasionally whimpering from the severity of the acidic feeling. As cautious as Shay was with dabbing the cuts in gentle movements, it still would be obnoxiously arduous for him – whether the pain was more embedded in the fact that it was Keith who previously nursed him, or that the peroxide was _actually_ working, he couldn’t decide.

 

Shay softly placed two Band-Aids on the swollen ankles, and dumped the blood-soaked cotton balls into the bathroom’s trash bin. “I can’t believe you’ve been beaten by your own grandfather. Are you sure you can’t…” Lance stopped her before she could ask the dreadful question, giving his best counterfeit nod. Whenever others were being sympathetic, it began to make him feel nauseous rather than comforted, and he knew he didn’t want to hear another considerate apology from someone else.

 

“Thank you again, though, Shay. I appreciate you letting me spend the night on such short notice,” Lance recoiled in on himself, curling up on the toilet lid and ducking his chin behind his thighs. “I’m really sorry that you had to cancel your plans.”

 

“Don’t say such a thing!” One of Shay’s fists teasingly hit his calf, a worried pout controlling every inch of her facial features, from the forehead wrinkles all the way down to a pair of dimples. “Your grandpa seems like the biggest asshole in this entire county, and that says something, considering we’re in Redneck Nation.”

 

“Tell me something I don’t know…”

 

“Sneezes travel faster than coughs, by approximately a minimum of 40 miles per hour.”

 

“…. I did not know that.”

 

“Learn something new every day, eh?” Lance snorted at the monotone comment, slowly extending his legs until the pads of his toes touched the slightly-cold tiles on the floor. Before he could finally sit up from the stiff position he was in, Shay’s devious chuckle stopped him in his tracks, squinting in question at the suddenly-suspicious friend. “I just had a great fucking idea. About the plans for tonight… how about you come along? Of course, after we eat curry. I’ll spare our lives.”

 

Lance couldn’t refuse the offer once he saw how hopeful her eyes appeared, and with a sigh, he reluctantly agreed to accompany her tonight, wishing that it wasn’t going to be a huge event that he’d regret going to.

 

Of course, once the bass of “Starboy” bounced off the walls of Rolo and Nyma’s house, Lance wanted to die.

 

“Shay, are you fucking kidding me?! Not even five hours ago you were yelling at them for throwing a party on a fucking Wednesday!”

 

Giving Lance her best bitchy side-eye, Shay continued up the steps to the front porch, the creaking wood being washed out by some rap lyrics. “Yeah, well, I changed my mind, and I decided to get fucking _obliterated_ tonight. The quarter’s almost over, and I’m gonna relish in my perfect GPA by _drowning in liquor_.”

 

Nyma sloppily propped the door open, planting the sloppiest kiss ever on Shay’s cheek. Lance, with crossed arms, unhappily followed the two enthusiastic girls across the untidy house, packed to the brim with kids and adults _way_ too old to be conversing with them. If that wasn’t bad enough, the stench of weed and cocaine was wafting throughout every room beyond the kitchen, cheap pizza and a myriad of drinks stacked up on the countertops.

 

A few familiar faces were seen throughout the group, although Lance was not in the mood to discuss trivial and dry things with people he wouldn’t talk to in school. Fuckboys, football players and the outcast druggies were playing a hardcore game of ping pong in one corner, and people were hooking up in the other ones.

 

The place was a mess, to say the least.

 

Rolo was downing a cup from the Beer Pong table outside, locking eyes with Lance in the process of guzzling down the horrendously-cheap alcohol. With a loud swallow, he made his way over to Lance, some drool dripping down from his lips. “My dude, you made it! What’s up?” When he was met with an uncomfortable silence, Rolo snaked his right arm around Lance’s tense neck, rustling up the sweaty strands of hair that fell on his forehead. “Fuck that sad shit, bro, we’re gonna get lit tonight. Come on, let’s get you scored tonight! Right, lads?”

 

The drunken babbling was greeted with cheers and claps across the backyard, hyping up the ridiculously high boy even more. All Lance wanted was to go home, but he had nowhere to _truly_ call home anymore.

 

With a sigh, and a new-found sense of rebellious spirit, Lance held up his hand in reluctance, a cheesy grin playing on his lips. “What can you do? Let’s get fucked.”

 

“Yeaaaaah, man!”

 

Before he knew it, there was a cup of off-brand Vodka shoved into his hand, a little bit of it spilling over. Lance was staring at his broken countenance in the transparent shot glass, shades of brown, blue, and red rippling through the alcohol. Disgusted by his appearance, Lance quickly downed the entire shot, savoring in the burning sensation coating his tongue and throat.

 

 And he gulped down another one. And three more after that.

 

\--

 

“Do it!”

“Ah, shit, why the hell not?!”

 

Lance started to pour the entire bottle of Jack Daniels down his mouth, nameless faces and unknown voices rallying him on in the night’s darkness. There was a disappearing awareness of what he was doing, and all the tension that lingered in his frame was dissipating into nothingness. Strange, unexplored warmth was radiating out from every one of his chakras – or what Lance _thought_ were chakras. He reached Shay’s goal of the night: to get absolutely _plastered_.

 

The bass of a trap song was distorted in his eardrums, and Lance figured that this was what it felt like to be on top of the world. Kendrick Lamar was setting fires ablaze through his veins, and he didn’t care if this was the worst decision he ever made in his life.

 

Starting from the point where he finished the last droplets of whiskey, everything was a hazy, confusing mess.

 

Lance could make out the lyrics to “Donald Trump” just fine, but not what he was drinking – water or liquor, he drank it anyways. The sways of his hips came more natural in the heat of the moment, and even though he wasn’t sure how many people filled the room anymore, he was positive that it was more invigorating than before.

 

Colors were more vibrant than before. People seemed more pleasant and jovial than before. The bruises hurt less than before.

 

The false happiness gave Drunk Lance hope; that he wouldn’t be suffering every hour, every second, of the day. That there were somethings that existed to make people feel euphoric. Little did he know what the consequences would be in the later hours of the following morning.

 

Whatever song that came on after the couple he liked was not to his taste, and Drunk Lance was extremely disappointed, and frankly, quite upset in the most childish way possible. In a typical, immature fashion, Lance sulked his way out of the immense crowd of people, bumping into multiple couples in the process. Lance’s brain realized that it was his mistake, but Drunk Lance was utterly perplexed on why he was a stumbling disaster. Nor did his drunk persona comprehend the fact that he slipped three times while going up the stairs.

 

A blinding light was coming from the middle of the hallway, and it beckoned the staggering boy with intense power. Miraculously not tripping over the trashed clothes and bottles littered across the carpet, Lance made it to the source of the luminescence, tapping open the poorly-hinged door with his forehead. Hair that resembled flames was the first thing his bleary gaze focused on, not registering the fact that Keith was in the same space as he was. And Lance _definitely_ could not fathom that Keith was being undressed by some older man that had a few inches on the boy.

 

“Lance?!” Keith’s eyes flicked back and forth between the two people, gently pushing off the unknown man from his backside. “What are you _doing_ here?” Drunk Lance, not grasping the situation at all – like an innocent child – was a giggling slob, dribbles of drool sliding down his chin.

 

The anonymous man was clearly agitated by the abrupt interruption, slamming a twenty-dollar bill on the foul countertop, and storming out the door, knocking shoulders with the stranger who stopped them from hooking up.

 

Drunk Lance was close to sobering up, and could comprehend that the itinerant person held animosity against him for some reason. “Wha-what’s that dick’s problem?” Immediately hiccupping after speaking, Lance was trying his best to understand what was happening, still too inebriated to grasp the atmosphere.

 

With a prolonged sigh, Keith swapped the money and furiously placed it into his jean’s pocket, glaring at Lance with semi-antipathy. “Let’s just go.” Roughly chaining his arm into Lance’s, Keith loudly stomped his boots against the carpet. “I can’t believe this. Not only did you just barge in on me, you don’t even look the slightest bit apologetic. Do you realize what you just did?”

 

Finally finding an empty space, Keith pushed Lance inside the dark bedroom, waiting until the group of snickering, horny kids was out of the perimeter. He took a step closer to Lance, who took one back in response, and continued the action until the intoxicated boy was pressed against the curtains and wall. “Do you, Lance?”

 

Rational Lance was making a breakthrough, kicking down the wall that Drunken Lance just built in about three hours. Holding up his hands in defeat, his nervous laughter filled the pitch-black room, making it clear just how bewildered he was. “Uh… what’s going on? I’m con… fused…”

 

Groaning, Keith took his palms off the boy's shoulders, navigating around the room to find some kind of light switch to turn on. “Whatever, if you’re going to interrupt my job, you’ll have to make the money up.”

 

Lance blinked six times after the lamp was turned on, making out Keith’s frame starting to come close once again. “What do you mean by job? Money? I-I didn’t see anything! _Dios mio_ , I’ve got myself involved with a criminal gang group, didn’t I? Spare my life-“

 

Keith’s chuckle was enough to settle down the exploding nerves inside his stomach, an index finger grazing his lips a second later. “Lance, you got it all wrong. I’m not in a gang,” Two hands traveled down to the hem of Lance’s shirt, ripping it off with rough force, “I get paid to have sex with others.”

 

Miles of combustions were ignited inside Lance’s brain and heart, triggering yet another unfamiliar emotion for the second time tonight. Once the shirt was torn off, Lance and Keith made intense eye contact, a cloudy shadow developing over Keith’s dilating pupils. His tongue licked the bottom lip with such dangerous intentions, and all Lance could do was swallow in awe at the scene unraveling in front of him. Keith dug out his phone from his back pocket, fastly typing something in that Lance couldn’t see.

 

“Don’t take your eyes off from me, I’m getting paid for this,” tossing the phone onto the bed, the first line of “Teeth” played out loud, and the cheeky grin flashed at Lance was officially branded inside his eyelids. Keith’s fingers brushed through the back of his hair before his waist was moving to the beat, lifting the edge of his shirt in an excruciatingly slow manner.

 

Lance, who spent the majority of his weekends playing _Super Smash Brothers Brawl_ with Pidge and Hunk, was not expecting to be given his own exotic dance – nonetheless, by his own neighbor, that he has a huge, growing affection for. Tremors were flying down his spinal cord and he bit at the cuticles of his left hand’s fingers from the sensation, all the while watching Keith’s every move. Lance reveled in each flicker of smooth, pale skin being showcased to him, causing his heartbeat to rise to a ridiculous number.

 

His front teeth ferociously dug into his lip once Keith turned around, and made his way over to the tremulous boy checking out every inch of his body. The tips of Keith’s fingers were placed under Lance’s chin, tilting it upwards and forcing him to observe the bold, flirtatious visage he purposely wore.

 

Jealousy was discharging in his fragile heart, realizing that he wasn’t the only one to be given this treatment before. That an innumerable amount of people have witnessed the very same scene, even the person he saw a few days ago getting it on with Keith in his bedroom.

 

That **Shiro** , somehow, was connected to someone who gave his **body** out for **money**.

 

Drunk Lance was gone, and all that was left, was shambles of his high that made all the problems that plagued his mind disappear. He nudged Keith off, and began to walk out of the room, rummaging for change in his pockets. All that was there, was five dollars, and a quarter.

 

“Here’s your money,” With an extreme amount of bitterness, Lance flicked the coin up in the air, landing on the bed a few centimeters away from the crimpled dollars. “I don’t think it’s right for you to use my feelings like this, even if I did something to you.”

 

Storming out of the dimly-lit room, Lance was reminded of how petty he was whenever someone hurt him, and that he acted out on one of the few friends he made because of that vice of his. Even though guilt was generating, he refused to look back and apologize for his poor mannerism, and continued treading down the stairs.

 

Shay was being held up by Nyma, the two of them wobbling through the insane number of people crowding in the living room. Once Nyma centered in on Lance, she hustled up to him, shifting her eyes to the girl in her arms. “I think she needs to go home now.”

 

“I got it, don’t worry,” Lance gracefully held up Shay, letting her support all her weight onto his right side. “Thanks for everything tonight, Nyma. Tell that to Rolo, too.”

 

The blonde bombshell bid him a last farewell, and he was off on his own to remember how the two of them even got to Rolo’s in the first place. Vice number two: Lance was horrible when it came to remembering addresses and directions.

 

\--

 

 _Hangovers were officially the second most annoying feeling in Lance’s life_.

 

Ducking his head back into the toilet, he carried on his profuse gagging although nothing was coming up, listening in on Shay grunting in the bedroom next door. The two were equally tortured by the massive headache pulsating against their forehead, but something was _empty_ inside Lance’s heart this morning. He blamed it on getting wasted in the middle of the week, and still having to go to school in two hours.

 

Shay pushed open the door with extreme power, sliding in with her slippers. “Move it, I’m about to get sick.”

 

Lance plopped himself down onto the freezing tiles, lethargically scooting himself out of the bathroom as Shay vomited. There was a bottle of Motrin on the kitchen table, and since he was physically unable to stand up from the amount of agony he was in, he continued to scoot his way across the house he most _definitely_ did not pay the bills for.

 

With his socked foot, he side-swept the bottle down onto the ground, the lid still secured tight. “Fuck my liiifeeeeeeeeeee.” Closing his eyes, he kept trying to move the bottle closer with the tip of his toes and failing each time. Somebody picked the bottle of meds from his reach, popping open the lid and letting it fall onto his nose. “What the hell?”

 

Shay’s brother, Rax, was bending down into Lance’s personal space, holding out two pills for him to take. “Don’t curse in this household, and take the pills already. I got other things to do than babysit a seventeen-year-old.” With a frown, Lance ~~un~~ gracefully swiped the two pills and placed them on his tongue, swallowing the both of them dry like some _wild monster_. “Shay’s still throwing up in her bathroom. You should wash your face in mine, you look like shit. Like you were in a coffin for seventeen years without seeing the sunlight. And bugs ate the skin under your eyes.”

 

Lance’s monotone laughter sent shivers down Rax’s spine, as his hand rose to rest on his aching forehead. “I feel like I went through war in that very coffin for seventeen years. Your description’s not too far off from an adequate explanation.” Gags replaced the words the two should have spoken, an uncomfortable silence befalling in the kitchen.

 

There was still an indescribable feeling gnawing at every part of his insides, and that signaled Lance to realize that this wasn’t because he was very much hungover with a migraine. Maybe it was the aftermath of feeling above anything and everything the night before, or maybe it was his karma for acting so carelessly with Keith: hell, it could also be his payback for slicing open his grandfather’s face.

 

His heart was fading out before his thoughts did, and the loneliness of having such a lacking description to what his emotional state was… simply killing him. Lance had an overactive mind and tender soul, but his heart – from the aorta all the way to the inferior vena cava – was littered with cracks and missing pieces. It was as if a pothole took place where his organs should have been, and there was no clue as to why, or how, it happened.

 

And here he was, stretched out on the carpet: sealed inside his restless contemplation, detecting the sounds of retching from rooms away, mindlessly watching Rax pour himself a mug of pure-black coffee. Stranger things have happened in the entirety of his seventeen years of life, but this was a whole different genre of “odd.”

 

Grumbling, Lance shakily stood up from the floor, rubbing away the bleariness from his optics. Carefully taking a step at a time, he managed to reach the cupboard and safely take a Harry Potter mug out, gripping tightly onto the pot holding the coffee. Once again, the beaten look on his face that reflected onto the pot made his stomach sour at the sight of it.

 

 _Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting_.

 

The liquid almost missed the cup, as Lance’s focus was only on how nauseated he became when staring at his own reflection. An amorphous tightness gripped onto his intestines, and diffused disturbing thoughts right into his thick skull.

 

If it wasn’t for Rax repositioning the pot in his hand, Lance wouldn’t have comprehended that the coffee was overflowing out from the expensive mug.

 

“Watch yourself! The button’s green for a reason, that’ll burn your skin!”

 

“What else is new…” The words spurted out of his mouth without any warning, and the apprehensive glare Rax gave him even worsened the fact that he said such a negative thing. What’s caused him to suddenly transform into a bundle of negative energy, in the span of only a week? “Um… Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up, so go ahead with your accounting work. Sorry for making a mess,” A bashful guffaw _shredded_ against his ears, Rax just nodding along and disappearing into a different room inside the huge house.

 

Even the sound of his own laugh was grating to him. His appearance was no longer something he could take pride in.

 

A faulty, broken switch took control over his functioning rationality.

 

He took a sip of the coffee, and immediately spat it out from the bitterness, somehow forgetting that he didn’t add creamer into it. “Pull yourself together, Lance…” With a disappointed tone and sigh, he leveled out a balanced creamer:coffee ratio, and washed off the sticky residue from the counters.

 

\--

 

“Probability. This will be one of the most frequent topic you’ll discuss in Statistics, but since we are in Algebra and Trigonometry, we should teach how it fits into the topic. Back to the point – probability: the chance of something happening or not, based off on using the basis of impossibility versus certainty.” Shiro’s prosthetic finger pointed at the equation on the whiteboard, tapping a few times to get the attention of the kids who were falling asleep. “Just like coding, the two numbers involved are zero, and one. Zero, the number we use as a placeholder, means the impossibility of something occurring. One, however, is the certainty that it _will_ occur.”

 

Allura’s head was bobbing up and down, and even though Lance wanted to wake her up so she wouldn’t get another detention for “bad behavior,” she was absolutely terrifying when just woken up. He learned from the brutal mistake he made the second day he attended class, and refuses to do it ever again.

 

“Allura. Since you are _clearly_ focusing on the material, why won’t you tell the class the equation for probability in a real-life situation?” Shiro’s bitch face was directed towards their direction, and an extremely large amount of virulence detonated in Lance.

 

The sleeping girl was still not coming to her senses, and in defense, Lance stood up from his chair, leaning over with his palms flat on the desk. “Excuse me, Mr. Shirogane, what exactly are you doing? You know damn well that you haven’t told us what equation it is yet. Don’t make us look like idiots because somebody hasn’t gotten enough sleep the previous night.”

 

Another day, another mistake.

 

Something flashed on Shiro’s face, who simply leaned onto the whiteboard, and crossed his arms in the most intimidating way possible. “Lance, right? You shouldn’t tell me how to control my classroom. If you aren’t going to participate, or listen attentively, you should skip and accept the absence on your record.”

 

If there was a facial expression that always managed to piss off Lance, it would be the one someone makes before sneering. And that was _exactly_ what Shiro did. He snorted at the sight of it, flipping him off behind the guy’s head who was in front of him. Although, he was _sure_ that Shiro caught the gesture, and relished in how much of an agitated vibe his teacher gave for the rest of the period.

 

The second the bell rang for him to go to lunch, he packed up his bags, and still didn’t bother waking Allura up with physical means. Since she also had the same lunch period, he just set an alarm on her phone to go off in five minutes, so he would completely be out of the red.

 

“Not so fast, Ramirez,” Shiro’s bionic hand had a painfully-rough hold on Lance’s shoulder, spinning him around so the two could face each other. “I’d like to know what the meaning was behind that outburst in class today. I don’t want it to happen again, and it does not only disrupt me, it interrupts all your other classmates.”

 

Every detail of Shiro’s face was on Lance’s nerves. The pastel-pink scar that coated his nose. The creases underneath his eyes. The few, miniature freckles that dusted around his cheeks. The way his eyebrows twitch slightly with each breath.

 

“I don’t like it when my friends get called on for no reason. Her hand wasn’t even up, and that’s not fair to her, or anyone who wanted to answer. However, since you didn’t teach the equation at all, it was extremely rude, and unfair. That’s why I ‘acted out’ today. Can I go now?”

 

Once Lance turned around, there was a sudden clutch on his collar, and he was forcefully shoved the opposite way again. “Not in my class. Got it?” A surge of fear flooded through the blood in Lance’s veins and capillaries, eyes widening like a surprised deer. The icy breath fanned into his face, and eyes as cold as the subarctic stared straight at him. “GOT it?”

 

“Shiro! Are you free- “

 

Lance and Shiro both crooked their heads to look at who was at the door, not losing the fighting stance that they both held prior to the interruption. Keith’s bag dropped down onto the moldy floor, mouth agape at the whole scene unraveling before his own eyes.

 

The space that felt empty all day, the spot where his heart physically was, was hit with pangs of hurt and wrath. _Wrath_. Not only at Shiro, but also at himself. At Keith. At the reason _why_ Keith was here for Shiro and not him.

 

With the sneer he loathed ever so _much_ , Lance shoved the wider man off of him, the impact so hard that the legs hit the desk behind him, and made it squeak softly. “Fuck this.” Securing the other backpack strap onto his right shoulder, Lance gave a final look of enmity to his teacher, fingers tightening around the strap. “ _Fuck_ this.”

 

His nearly-silent steps were the only sound inside the room, all the way until he made his way behind Keith, not sparing him the sight of an infuriated expression that tug on each of his facial muscles.

 

The sensation of simultaneously yearning for someone, and wishing for them to disappear from your life, was now the number one worst feeling that Lance has ever experienced.

 

Heaps of alcohol couldn’t solve his problems at all. Avoiding the root of the problem didn’t solve it, either. They would still be there in the end; they would greet you with a dagger to the heart, and show no mercy. If there was ever a probability to running into problems for Lance, that number would _definitely_ be a one, not a zero. _Especially_ if it involved any aspect of emotions and other people. Lance realized that no matter what, every single part of his life would branch off into a problem without fail, and taint everything he ever believed in. It would damage the hope he desperately clung onto for days, the determination to make things better even in the worst of conditions.

 

Because sometimes, the answers that would solve these problems, have a probability of _zero_.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE ANGST STATION HAS REACHED THE END AND YOU GUYS ARE FREE 
> 
> hopefully it wasnt a horrendous chap whoops


	4. FOUR: Let It Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hell yeah this is named after The Neighbourhood's song, who do you think i am??? 
> 
> i think the broom should be it's own character who agrees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOODBYE NYMA 
> 
> *trigger warning: vague speech of self-harm/murder, mentions of blood, & unsafe driving
> 
> YEAH this chapter is a bit chaotic but that's b/c I am actually sick & was struck with inspiration at different periods of time. 
> 
> In which Lance and Keith have a weird bonding moment, Allura is #momaf i love her so much, [angsty teenage comments], Nyma made a mistake, and the plot for the next chapter is released (Lance had no clue). WHAT A DYSFUNCTIONAL THANKSGIVING BREAK LMAO I HATE HURTING MY BABY BUT I GOTTA FOR THESE PLOT TWISTS

Snippets of the past couple of weeks remained in Lance’s mind, particularly the ones where beatings and stress were involved. No November has ever been as brutal to Lance as this one, and the mid-autumn gloom devours his mood in waves, frustrating him to no end.

 

“Get out of the fucking bed and clean the kitchen, you useless piece of shit!” A gratingly-hoarse voice shredded his eardrums apart, as the familiar stench of cigarette smoke was alarmingly close. All he wanted was a peaceful weekend after the grave punishment yesterday for skipping his medication once again, but with how much the witch was screaming at him for the past fifteen minutes, it looked like it would be another laborious day for him.

 

There was a dip in the bed after he was groaning in response, along with the sound of blowing out the flames on the butt of the cigarette. “Let’s get going, shithead. We have church in a few minutes – if the house isn’t fuckin’ spotless before we come back, there’ll be no dinner for you tonight. _Capisce_?”

 

With another disgruntled moan, the witch finally left his room, but not without discarding the extinguished toxic stick on Lance’s carpet.

 

This has become the typical Saturday and Sunday morning for Lance, whether he asked for it or not. Instead of waking up to the comforting fragrance of French toast and coffee, his days usually started with billion micro-toxins floating into his room from the two smokers, wails bouncing off his walls, and sometimes a punch or two to ‘wake up.’ Making jokes and play-fighting with his brothers was replaced with serious insults and discolored patches of skin.

 

The daily twist in his stomach was there again this morning, and tugged tight onto the core of his being. As empty as he feels these days, the despondency and desolation never ceased to leave him.

 

Before either of them could berate him again, Lance drowsily got himself out of his bed, tying the blanket around his neck as if it was his personal cape. Once he found his phone after fuddling behind his pillows for it, he put his iTunes on shuffle to get himself hyped up for cleaning so he would have more time to sleep afterwards.

 

“This is the first song for your mix tape, it's short just like your temper…” Lance plugged in the nearly-broken earbuds to his phone, and swung the broom across the hallway to the beat. His grandfather and the actual demonic girlfriend bid a silent farewell, and left him alone to make the house spotless. The kitchen was the room that needed the most cleaning done, and Lance always saved the dirtiest place for last.

 

However, he wasn’t expecting somebody to be out on the front porch while he was sweeping, let alone the very neighbor that has been causing him problems since the day he arrived. “What the hell – _Keith_?” Lance tore out the earbuds and let them dangle down onto his thigh, hand clutching the stick of the broom with intense ferocity. “Can you please leave? I have work to do,” With a surge of pettiness, he swept some dust and dirt in Keith’s direction, still not over what happened the last time they spoke. The beanie Keith usually wears was blown off from the forceful movement, and Lance had to take a step back from shock from the sudden change in appearance.

 

What Lance noticed first on the quivering boy was the ocean-blue hair, freshly cut to the nape of his neck, curled up from wearing a hat for a prolonged period. The next was a belt of deeper blues and purples around his neck, baring a grim resemblance to the very same contusions askew across Lance’s own body. The ebony hoodie was rolled up to his elbows, a couple of nail marks embedded into the tattoos around his wrists.

 

An uneasy chuckle emerged out of Keith, unsettling the very being of Lance’s conscience. “Sorry for irritating you again, I was just enjoying the scenery-“

 

“You live right _fucking_ next door, Keith!” Lance screeched at the top of his lungs, making the fellow boy wince from the impact of the scream and the broom crashing down onto the wooden porch. “Don’t… don’t keep lying to me. I’m tired of being deceived by you… and your stupid dyed hair. Tell me the real reason why you’re here, bastard.”

 

Lance pointed his finger at Keith, who rose his hands in merciful defeat while standing up. “Alright, I got it. How about we go out on a ride?” In the moment of silence following, there was a quirky lift in the left corner of his chapped lips, along with a dreary glint in his eyes. “Just you and I, and the shit hole that’s known as Floral City. You can tell me all about the unpleasant stress that’s clouding your mind, and I can tell you about all the damn apathy that’s been shadowing mine. _Also_ we can get milkshakes, and get out of this fucking white ass neighborhood. You in?”

 

Mid-way through Keith’s angsty speech, Lance crossed his arms in an irked fashion, eyebrows knitting down simultaneously. “First of all, that sounded like some whacky excerpt from a John Green novel about teenage emoness and romance. Secondly, if you couldn’t figure it out, I am cleaning for a reason. And I really would like nothing more than to punch the lights out of you right this instant.”

 

“Nothing’s stopping you.”

 

“A restraining order permanently soiling my name is.”

 

“Touché. Get in the car.”

 

\--

 

Sounds of obnoxious slurping were cancelled out by the drastically-loud ambiance from “Me” by _THE 1975_ , which vibrated both the boys in the car, and the milkshakes in their grasps. The sun was covered by charcoal-gray clouds, sparse droplets of rain plopping down onto the windshield. Even though rainy weather was Lance’s absolute favorite, the tense anxiety locked inside the car, and between the two of them, nullified any sense of tranquility from entering his space.

 

“Do you know what the Seven Wonders of the World are?” Keith’s voice startled the spaced-out fellow next to him, who shifted in the seat as a signal for him to continue. With fingers tapping to the beat on the plastic cup, a brooding expression took over all the features on his face, pondering on how to form the right words and not confuse Lance even more. “They’re the world’s most extravagant wonders and buildings, even though the list has been modified a countless number of times. Right now, though… in this very second, that’s my goal: I want to travel across the entire globe, and hit each natural – or man-made – wonder that’s planted on the Earth. I just need money to do so, and an education.”

 

Uncomfortably repositioning himself, Keith established eye contact with his neighbor, not realizing that Lance was already staring him down from the start. “That’s how I got into a downwards spiral early in my life. I’ve always had such big… big dreams, you know? To be valedictorian, to be someone who has tons of friends, to be someone that everyone would be envious of – hell, in the end, I’m anything but perfect. I’ve discarded every value I held onto as a kid, and all I’m left with is the hollow shell of the person I previously was. I chose to do awful jobs to make sustenance for my lifestyle, and it’s torn me apart by giving me my rough edges.” One of his wrists twitched from how much tension flowed out from him, and Lance interpreted that as an implied notion of trepidation.

 

Without noticing, one of his own hands grasped onto Keith’s tremulous ones, stopping his anxious babbling. “You don’t have to talk about it if you aren’t comfortable, you know that, right?” A glossed-over, skittish expression was buried deep into his eyes, which sent floods of shame down Lance’s frame. “So, you hack computers and you have sex, all for money. What’s wrong with that, if you aren’t hurting anyone? Why would that make you a shitty person?”

 

“Lance…”

 

“No, Keith, listen to me. And listen attentively, because I’m only going to say this once. You aren’t the result of your past, nor the punishment for what you must do to support yourself. What makes you a bad, or good, person… is what you _choose_ to do in life. Your daily actions: _that_ is what decides your true colors. Not whatever fucked up things we have to do to endure.”

 

The rain was speeding up, along with giving a more boisterous _clunk_ with each droplet that hit the car. Only the melody of the radio and Keith’s subdued sobs were noticeable, not how unsteady Lance’s heart beat has become.

 

Wiping away the developing tears from his eyes, Keith secured his milkshake into one of the cup-holders, clenching down on the steering wheel with fervent pressure. Another influx of silence overcame the space the two shared, but it was not nearly as distressing as earlier.

 

Until Keith repeatedly slammed his forehead into the wheel, a delirious-sounding cackle distorting with his quick movements. All that Lance could do was gawk at the scene unraveling in front of him, an odd sensation crawling within every inch of skin that was on his body. He wasn’t sure if he was more perturbed, concerned, or afraid, of Keith’s outburst.

 

“What a fucking _joke_!” The Adam’s apple in his throat bobbed up-and-down as he swallowed, a wild expression plastered on his facial features. Not even a second later, his palms were clawing down his swelling face, broken intervals of weak laughter muffled under the calloused fists. “Just fucking everything up, as usual. What else is there to do in my life? Right?”

 

Lance avoided Keith’s gaze, focusing instead on the number of bubbles that were on top of his vanilla milkshake. He had no input on Keith’s semi-breakdown, and he knew that well. Not only has he been on the verge of collapsing in on himself, he’s had such a negative shift on his mental stability in the past few months: who was he to judge, if the two of them were in the exact same dilemma?

 

 _Modern Baseball_ pulsated throughout Keith’s Jeep, increasing the wordless-friction between the unhinged driver and the uptight passenger. One was concentrating on controlling their ludicrous behavior and thoughts, the other plaguing their brain with inundations of unconnected ideas and theories about how to initiate another conversation. Nevertheless, time continued, dragging each second agonizingly longer than the previous one.

 

The ignition revved up vociferously, slicing through the mute apprehension that clung after the discussion. Hail was beginning to replace the downpour, banging on the windows and mirrors of the Jeep one after the other. Jitters flew down Lance’s spine from the number of times the car was hydroplaning from Keith recklessly driving through Hunter Springs. All the palm trees swayed from the insane gusts of wind blowing from the west, and it was an ethereal sight for Lance. The hail gradually worsened with each couple of miles, profusely pouring down and knocking over signs once they reached Floral City.

 

The broom he left on the front porch was nowhere to be seen.

 

\--

 

By the time his grandparents came back from church, Lance managed to disinfect and organize every room of the house, even though the Swiffer was long gone – another casualty from the hailstorm. Neither of them noticed, nor seemed to care about the absent cleaning supplies, and Lance was worshipping every God he knew the name of for this token of luck.

 

Scavenging for the laptop’s charger on his messy bed, Lance plugged the cable into the outlet, still using his left hand to type ‘what are the seven world wonders’ in the Google search bar. The discourse that went down only two hours prior was lingering inside his conscious thoughts, ruminating about all the possible answers he could have gave rather than being silent.

 

“Fucking idiot,” Lance slammed the laptop shut, rubbing his right shoulder gingerly. The nippy November breeze drafted into his room from the broken window, reminding him that Keith was only a few seconds away from the very area Lance was languishing in. Evaluating his poor decisions, in the end, was not helping his case of the blues – Lance peeped outside from the smashed hole in the glass, focusing his attention on the dim-lighten room Keith was currently in.

 

The white-haired fellow Lance recalled from the first night he arrived, collided his fist into Keith’s cheek, breathing heavily as he hit the wobbling boy. Hushed shrieks manifested from the both of them, discolored blemishes showered across both their bodies. Money was smacked down onto his desk, but the altercation continued afterwards, Keith even grabbing the lamp from his work station to defend himself.

 

With a _lovely_ goodbye, which was made with the two flicking the other off, there was an appalling, dreadful look on Keith’s countenance, teeth biting down ridiculously hard into his bottom lip. Lance couldn’t make out if there were tears falling down his cheeks, or if it was just the droplets of rain descending on the window. That was the second nervous breakdown he witnessed Keith having only in the past twenty-four hours, but for two completely disparate reasons: with fingers raking through his freshly-dyed hair, Keith appeared to be having a panic attack this time after the quarrel that transpired in his room.

 

Splinters wedged their way into Lance’s heart as he watched the stupefying spectacle from the safety of his own bedroom, wanting nothing more than to console the boy who was collapsing in on himself a fence-away. Although the fact that Keith was as fragmented as himself was heart wrenching, Lance couldn’t help but to feel a warped sense of bliss at the scene, as if it was a way to avenge himself for all the pain he endured from the man next door.

 

Snorting with annoyance, Lance covered the window with the curtains again, sliding his feet into the Harry Potter slippers he cherished like a newborn child. He turned off the beat-up laptop before slumping out to the kitchen, searching for something to eat.

 

“There’s never anything in this house…”

 

“Go buy your own damn food, _chico_ ,” The White Witch cracked in Lance’s ear, creeping him out even more than any horror film could. “’F you don’t like what ‘m making, you can starve.”

 

Indignantly, Lance scoffed at the older woman, and gazed down at her with malice, being about a full-head taller. “Still not a reason to call me chico, _comemierda_.” The bag of marshmallows, meant for hot chocolate, fell out from the cupboard Lance was rummaging around in for food, a few stray ones scattered across the floor. “Don’t bother me, I’m going into my room and doing homework,” the transparent lie barely covered the fact that he was planning on wasting the rest of the weekend away.  

 

“Listen here, boy,” Before he could escape into his personal paradise, the witch’s grating voice rung throughout his ears, annoyance settling deep down within him. “A few of your family members are comin’ down for Thanksgiving. If that room of yours ain’t spotless by then, there’ll be consequences. Got it?”

 

“That’s the first I heard about it…”

 

“Probably because nobody wants to speak to you.”

 

Subconsciously squeezing onto the plastic bag, Lance was engulfed in disappointment from the sudden bomb detonated on him. Not only was his family visiting them, not a single person even _bothered_ to notify him on the occasion. Each step got louder and more stomp-like, aggression coursing through his veins and capillaries as if it was blood and oxygen.

 

The mirror he recently hung up on his door was gradually becoming one of his greatest mortal enemies: Lance bore his eyes into the reflection, counting each of the flaws and foibles he possessed. _Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting._

 

_“Disgusting!”_

 

The bruised fist collided into the mirror, millions of fractures sinking down to the carpet. Chestnut-brown wood replaced the spot where his head should have been, branches of cracks distorting the rest of the room shown in the glass. A few droplets of blood were gliding out of the impacted area, increasing the pace of how much self-hatred and wrath was boiling out of him.

 

Cyclones of misery ate him alive, ripping off any source of happiness he could have held onto. Something as simplistic as his family could provoke his outbursts, but Lance wouldn’t accept that.

 

“It’s my fault! It’s always my fucking fault!” Another punch landed in the wall this time, a dent forming underneath his bleeding fist. The pouch of marshmallows was still crammed between his reddening fingers, but the hungry sensation that gnawed in his stomach ceased to exist. These days, whenever his mood dipped into the deepest, darkest parts of him, the need to eat disappeared. Scorn and antipathy replaced his gluttony, whether he was consciously making the decision to or not.

 

Lance was a walking, breathing contradiction; a human paradox. He was on the brink of self-destruction, wanting nothing more than to be alone, but still wishing for someone to save him from the mental blights ruining him. One second he was on cloud nine – the highest points of his life, feeling invincible – and the next, he would be dragged back down to the nefarious nature that’s called ‘reality.’

 

 

 

This night, November 20th, would be the first time he hurt himself to control his emotional unsteadiness.

 

\--

 

Waking up was the most horrifying part of Lance’s daily routine. Most days, his grandfather would dump water on him, scream non-stop for minutes, or physically beat him until he would stir. Today was different.

 

His phone vibrated on the swollen right wrist, hitting the rawest area from the previous night’s self-harm. Wincing from the heat and movement of the phone, Lance groggily sat up in the bed, rolling within the fuzzy blanket from Keith’s to avoid the phone until it stopped going off.

 

“Leave me alone…” the lethargic voice mumbled at the phone as if it was a person, and slowly rubbed circles around the area his cuts were. After a few seconds, it kicked in that it was Thanksgiving Break, and he was up at 9:21 in the morning. “Jesus Christ, let me sleep in for _once_.” Even though he continuously mumbled complaints about being woken up, he unlocked his phone, being greeted with a massive spam of snapchats from Allura.

 

Right before opening the last message she sent, there was a deafening honk outside his broken window, startling the poor tired boy. “Sales are on today! Let’s get going, pretty boy, I’m not gonna waste my break doing nothing! Christmas shopping happens _NOW_.”

 

“How the hell did you drive out to my window-?” A mocha-brown face peeked in from the broken cracked-hole in the glass, causing Lance to shrill the loudest scream that was possible.

 

“Forty-seven seconds before I jump in and put you in the car myself. Get ready.”

 

His tiny squeal raised five octaves higher than the previous one, waving Allura out from his room in defeat. “Get out! I’ll change, alright? Shoo!” The creepy head disappeared, but not before a disturbing, rich laughter, shivers flying down Lance’s spine. As much as Allura was the most gorgeous person he’d ever had the chance to meet, she was equally as embarrassing and shameless.

 

Deep down, he appreciated the reckless-yet-friendly nature. Opposites attract, and if she was an extrovert, he would most definitely be considered as somewhat of an introvert.

 

Pulling a cleaner shirt on and some busted-up pair of red Vans, Lance made it out in time, jumping out from the window rather than being interrupted by his grandparents _. Passion Pit_ blared from the cherry-colored Camaro, Allura energetically tapping her fingers to the beat and singing the lyrics with a surprisingly-harmonious voice.

 

Moving the passenger seat back, Lance squinted his eyes at the girl dancing as she drove in disbelief. “Now that you woke me up, can you tell me exactly what the plan is?”

 

“Sales are beginning, I got hella’ coupons and spirit, normal people are working today because it’s a Monday… it’s the ideal day to go shopping! The only mall around here is in Ocala, though, so prepare for an hour drive.”

 

“An _hour_?!”

 

Allura gave him a cheeky wink, and sped up even more once they arrived on the highway, Lance _actually_ having to hold onto his seatbelt to slow his heartbeat. They surpassed sixty miles-per-hour long before they reached the end of his street, and he wasn’t sure if she was trying to kill him or not at this point.

 

Multiple alternative and indie songs blasted out from the expensive car, various drivers yelling and flicking her off for the music being obnoxiously loud.

 

“If you need a jacket, there’s one in the backseat. Sorry for freezing you out, I’m just always hot,” Allura’s right index-finger poked Lance’s dimple, whose teeth were chattering from the chilly, damp weather. “Hope you don’t mind wearing plain black.”

 

“Black is the best, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“So proud of you right now.” A sharp turn to the right later, Lance snaked his arms into the slightly-small jacket, stunned at how well it actually fit him despite their differences in body structure. Ocala was a huge step up from the suburban town of Floral City, having more buildings than residential areas; there was also a more hectic atmosphere around the traffic when driving here than anywhere else in Florida he’s been to. Orlando may have been a heavily-populated area, but the drivers here were _way_ more heedless and violent.

 

His phone’s ringtone rung deafeningly-loud in the side pocket of his sweatpants, frightening both Lance and Allura. “Sorry, I thought I turned the notifications off,” sheepishly digging out his phone, he turned off the sound and read the text. “Holy shit – Allura, oh God.”

 

“What’s wrong?” The car drifted a bit as she glanced over her shoulder to read the message.

 

Lance swerved the wheel back, a few honks being directed at them from both of the lanes. “Pay attention to the road!” A prolonged sigh eased its way out from his throat, and he leaned back into the seat at the end of it. “Nyma’s freaking out about how someone stole the money she had saved up for a plane ticket to see their grandma in the Netherlands….” Allura’s head whipped back to stare at him with intensely wide eyes, as he combed his free hand throughout his hair.

 

“Who’s with her?”

 

“I guess Rolo and Shay. They both sent texts to me about it a few minutes ago, I just got it now… Sprint fucking sucks ass down here.”

 

Allura murmured under her breath, sharply switching into the left lane from her bad road rage. “Let’s hope they’ll keep her contained, we don’t need another problem affecting her permanent record- oh shit, is that Rihanna? Lance you better raise that up right now or I **_swear_** I’ll veer off into the next lane again-“

 

“Alright, alright, don’t _threaten_ me with a good time, I’m turning it up.”

 

The rest of the ride was full of Allura rapping to each song on the radio that followed Rihanna, and Lance learned that not only was she brilliant, she had the lungs of an Olympic swimmer.

 

\--

 

Lance was officially _broke_ , and lost count of how many blisters he gained from the insane shopping experience with Allura at the mall.

 

They were pulling into Rolo and Nyma’s driveway, the whole street being oddly silent for it being mid-day and in the ‘white-trash ghetto’ as they called it. With a shared nod of confusion, Allura knocked on the wood-splinting door, a worried heave coming out from behind it.

 

It swung wide open, derailing it from another nail. “Allura, Lance, oh my god…”

 

“Shay, are you alright? What’s wrong?” Lance’s hands held onto Shay’s shoulder, who made room for Allura to come into the trashed house. Rolo was nowhere to be seen or heard on the first floor, and that triggered the over-paranoid side of Shay, who was on the brink of a panic attack.

 

“Nyma… Nyma, sh-she just…”

 

Allura cleared her throat, stealing his attention away from the panic-stricken girl shaking under his hands. “Looks like she busted out from the window, and the baseball bat’s gone from the safe they keep for protection.” The windowpane was completely destroyed, glass and wood dispersed all over the living room and the grass outside. “Shay, do you know who stole it from her? We gotta stop her before she acts out again.”

 

Shay furiously nodded her head, scratching at the cuticles of her thumbs. “No doubt about it… it’s her ex again, I think I saw him at the party the other day. What’s his name… Wyatt?”

 

“No, she’s at our mom’s place.” Rolo’s blunt voice terrified all three of them, who was stomping down the stairs with a strangled expression spread across his face. “She stole dad’s necklace that I had in my room, too.”

 

Allura’s grunt was loaded with anguish, pacing around the couch a couple of times before speaking up again. “Would Nyma kill her?” The four words ignited billions of chills across Lance’s skin, who was trying his best to console Shay. “Rolo, answer me… would Nyma kill her?”

 

“Probably… most likely, yeah.”

 

“Lance, let’s go.” Allura’s quick-paced stride made all the three lift their heads up, the car resonantly beeping as she unlocked it. “It’s down a few blocks, right? We gotta stop her from rampaging this time.”

 

Rolo followed her steps in a frenzy, not forgetting to bring the keys to his own house this time, and all four of them piled up into the small car to find her. The eerie stillness of the neighborhood unsettled Lance to a ridiculous degree, but he had to internalize his worries if he prioritized Shay’s sanity first.

 

Trailers were coming into view, along with people drugged out on their front porches, and kids mindlessly playing in the same yards. The car was parked at the least-sketchiest place in the neighborhood, and Rolo was left to shout directions at the three-petrified others.

 

“Turn right, it’s the place right smack in the middle of the street!”

 

“Got it!”

 

Lance’s speed picked up to meet Allura’s, as he dragged Shay along despite her zoning out. The trailer was the most beat-up one, and as soon as it came into his vision, sirens were wailing in the opposite direction, seemingly getting closer to the exact spot their destination was.

 

“Nyma!” Lance’s voice shrilled, echoing across the fogging area. There was a blonde-headed figure sitting in defeat on the steps up to the trailer, a trail of blood and wooden chips around her. She lifted her head up to his shriek, a faint redness still on her cheeks from what appeared to be a mighty slap. For the third time in only two days, his heart was torn right open and shredded until nothing remained.

 

The sirens kept getting louder, along with her sobs and muffled laughs.

 

Rolo stumbled his way up to the rusting stairs, and smothered his sister in a tight hug, tears beginning to stroll down his face and dropping onto her blood-stained jacket. “You fucking idiot…”

 

“I’m sorry,” her sniffles almost masked the words she croaked out, gripping onto the back of his hoodie with terrifying pressure. “I-I got to go, I have to. I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s not your fault!”

 

“It is! I’m fucked up in the head, and that bitch ruined my life! _I_ made the choice, not her!” Nyma shoved him off, the police cars pulling up onto the street in flocks. “I can’t control myself, hasn’t that always been my problem?! I’m messed up, okay? I killed our fucking _mom_ , Rolo!”

 

_**“** Nyma Boer, put your hands up! You have the right to remain silent! **”**_

 

“Nyma….”

 

Shay was bawling into the crook of Lance’s neck, and Lance was using Allura as a stepping-stool to sturdy the weight of them both, because he could just _feel_ his legs getting wobbly from the shock. He just witnessed a family being broken apart first-hand, along with one of his own friends being arrested for committing murder. Thanksgiving was not being kind to him or any of his friends this year, and it was only _Monday_.

 

Rolo was frozen on the staircase, legs propped up on the step he sat on. His head was ducked into his thighs, along with his hands being curled behind his neck, subdued whines barely audible to the rest of the group. All they could listen to was the sound of walkie-talkies, and the handcuffs jangling as Nyma was escorted into the back of the car.

 

“Come on, let’s bring you home,” Allura pulled Rolo up after some time spent brooding, carrying his weight on her shoulders alone. A couple of times, he lost his balance on the uneven slope of the street, but she managed to keep him on his own feet without completely falling over. “I got you, don’t worry.”

 

There wasn’t a single dry eye amongst the four of them the entire ride back to his house, nor when they bid their individual farewells, and especially not when Lance was back at his own place, replaying the entire situation nonstop in his mind.

 

“Here’s your bags, text you later.”

 

“Thank you,” Lance pulled Allura into a messy embrace, her hand gently slapping his back a few times during the hug. Once she let go, he waved goodbye until she pulled out of the driveway, and started hauling in the ten bags of presents he bought for Christmas.

 

He saved Nyma’s for last.

 

With a few seconds of heaving at the strenuous labor, Lance peered right back out the window, hearing a mailbox creaking wide open. “Hey, Keith!”

 

Keith jumped a little bit from the unforeseen disruption, turning his head around to greet the neighbor he had a heart-to-heart with a day prior. “Hey, Lance.” The same Harry Potter slippers Lance had were on Keith’s feet, which scratched loudly on the pavement as he pranced over to the fence to speak to the boy half-way out his window. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 

“I think seeing a ghost would’ve been better, if I had to be honest.”

 

A light snicker departed from the dressed-down neighbor, waving his newspaper and mail cordially. “Talk to you later, yeah? I gotta’ get back to my online shopping for the holidays.”

 

With a teasing salute, Lance grinned at the boy who furiously rolled his eyes at the movement. “See you later, don’t go broke like I did!”

 

“I know how to handle my money, you baboon.”

 

“ _Oi_ , that’s rude – hey don’t you go running into your house without apologizing! Aye, Keith! Get back out here!” A graceful middle-finger was shoved out the front door before Keith clicked it shut, Lance pouting childishly from the interaction. “Asshole.”

 

He retreated into his own bedroom, and was faced with all the leftover _mayhem_ scattered across his carpet from Sunday night's breakdown. 

 

“Do I clean up now, or do I save it for a later time?” His train of thought was cut off short when he heard his grandfather and the witch shouting at each other about the _vanished broom_. “Aw, fuck my life…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SAYONARA NYMA 
> 
> so angsty and very confusing, i am back in a downwards spiral of writers block, hope it wasn't too bad or dramatic. I won't drop Nyma's arrest, trust me. It'll be important soon [zoo wee mama tabitha you're WILDING]
> 
> hmu on tumblr if you like idk shameless self promotion bc i'm thirsty:  
> @yungkuroko or @emotionaldun
> 
>  
> 
> if you're still reading this, remember - everything in here happens for a really good reason. I promise it's not just for the reader's surprise, it's for the build up. 
> 
> alright i'm officially done i'm outta here with this emo chapter


	5. FIVE: FOOLS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LA FAMILIA 
> 
> alright fr family scene is short bc it's only the start of everything, this is P1 to the family series of this book. bc i love pain
> 
> also hell fucking yeah this chapter is Troye Sivan's song, every single chapter is titled after a song JUST SAYIN BUT BLUE NEIGHBORHOOD DESERVES 97 AWARDS 
> 
> INSPIRED BY MY FUCKED UP FAMILY! THANKS FOR RUINING ANOTHER HOLIDAY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOT AS EMO AS CH4 I PROMISE (well still kinda emo but it's 75% less & more-so characterization and plot build up)
> 
> in which Lance would survive Chopped bc he's such a good cook, Rolo is the true Dude Bro of the story, what tf is keith doing, LA FAMILIA gets names and starts drama, plenty mentions of food, hella color references bc why NOT I DO WHAT I WANT, and Adriana is #BestGirl i love her 
> 
> plus boys can like flowers too danny is a flower-loving child and nobody will stop me from making him wear flowers in his hair okay ITS NOT GONNA HAPPEN
> 
> ***mentions of: blood, abuse, self-harm (burning), and food

“Up, up, up, up, up! Time to start cooking the turkey, you gotta help your grandfather out with the mashed potatoes!”

 

Lance grunted from the bathroom, the bothersome-broken record of a Witch knocking non-stop at the door. He washed out the toothpaste from his mouth, and stomped out of the room. The witch was stunned by his agitated stance, but still refused to stop irritating him.

 

“Get up, you can’t go back into your room! Y’gotta help out, Lance!”

 

“ _Alright_!” His voice croakily shouted at the older woman, his eyes stinging from the lack of sleep in the past three days. “Can you leave me _alone_?! I have things to do, too, so I’ll be out in a _minute! Alright_?!” The bedroom door clicked shut immediately after the final word, leaving the witch to mind her own business.

 

The Harry Potter slippers plodded on the carpet full of leftover coffee stains and blood, Lance giving the vile splats of color and mysterious odors no attention. His fingers traced lines along the molding duct tape placed on the window so his family wouldn’t question the gaping hole in the glass, the welcoming, chilly breeze no longer gusting into the room.

 

For once, he was at ease while gazing out the window, Keith’s house barely being visible through the thick-grey layers of tape.

 

Downing the last few drops left of his third cup of coffee, Lance stretched his back until multiple cracks resonated in the soundless room, a strange-yet-calming satisfaction engulfing him afterwards. “Let’s get down to business,” Cracking his knuckles one last time, he stomped out of the room again, avoiding the witch’s annoyed huffs directed at him. All he wanted to do this morning was to make the mashed potatoes and turkey-fried rice with the leftover pieces, _not_ to get in another fight during the holiday season.

 

Marc Anthony played fuzzily from the old-school radio in the dining room, both Lance and his grandfather swaying their hips gently to the beat in the kitchen. The whisks violently mashed the potatoes with Lance’s quick pace, taking out the pent-up aggression and stress into them.

 

When the knocks at the door progressively got louder than the music, the three preparing in the house were all shaken by how early the guests arrived.

 

“Oh, fuck! Martha, get the door, my hands are in the turkey!” His grandfather yelled over his shoulder at the witch, the oven beeping to signal it’s at the right temperature. The new broom she was using was propped up on the hallway’s wall, her feet making _pitter-patter_ sounds as she approached the door.

 

Lance and the Witch gulped from nerves at the same time, and the door was opened to welcome in the Ramirez family. Valeria and Adrian – Lance’s mother and father – were the first to step in, eyes clearly moving around to scrutinize the house. Little Liana and Danny followed right after them, along with Francisco, Tatiana, and the eldest sister: Adriana.

 

The mashed potatoes were as fluffy as ever, Lance’s shaky hands sprinkling the sliced pieces of bacon and scallions into the bowl. He wasn’t exactly sure about what he was feeling – whether it was panic, grief, or tension, the one thing he was sure of was that the atmosphere was drowning in awkwardness.

 

Carlos vigorously washed his hands, squinting at the judging kids standing by the entrance. “Well, well, welcome to our house. Can I get you guys something to drink?” He shook his hands quickly, water splashing onto Lance’s clean shirt on purpose. “Tea, maybe coffee?”

 

“Todos estamos bien, papa.” Valeria held up her hand in disgust, clearly not comfortable with the conditions of the house and the stench of smoke. The older kids glared at her in shock, knowing full well that she broke out in Spanish only when she was irritated. “Liana, Danny, why don’t you go play outside? Daddy will take your bikes out of the car if you ask nicely.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Carlos faked the most eerie, wide grin he could, tightly snaking his arm around Lance’s neck to bring him into their vision. “How about you ask my _grandson_ to? You’ll be fine with that, wouldn’t you, m’boy?”

 

His parents’ faces paled instantly, a twitch appearing three times in his father’s eyes. Liana was beaming ear-to-ear, holding out her arms as she made a beeline straight to Lance. “Lance, Lance, Lance!”

 

A weak chuckle came from the bending boy, messing up his little sister’s hair in an affectionate way. “Alrighty, let’s go play outside! I’ll take you around the neighborhood.” Danny pounced onto his leg, little hands gripping onto the tight pair of black jeans that clung onto each muscle. “Danny, we won’t be able to see the sunflowers out at the end of the street if you don’t let go. I know those are your favorites.”

 

Idle chatter fell between the other siblings as Lance pried the younger boy off his calf, both hands being held onto lightly by the two kids. Martha was nowhere to be seen, and even though Lance would never initiate a conversation with her in general, he wished she was here so he could dodge the disappointed looks across his parents’ visages.

 

“Mama, papa.” He bid them as a greeting, gritting his teeth as the three of them exited out the front door. “Alright, which direction do you want to go in?”

 

“Right!” Liana voiced, a little giggle full of happiness gracing Lance’s ears.

 

“Okie dokie, let’s go!”

 

\--

 

Lance secured a tiny sunflower behind Danny’s ear before they got back into the dreadful house, the kids both satisfied with the number of gardens they saw on the three blocks surrounding the neighborhood. The cigarette smoke embedded in the walls no longer wafted around in the dining room, the comforting aroma of food breezing through the rooms.

 

Liana and Danny rushed into their seats, saved by Valeria. Only Lance had nowhere to sit, which was still discouraging although not a surprise. With one last sigh to ward off his negativity, Lance strolled into the kitchen to load his plate full of food, mixing the corn and potatoes together. Everything else was separated on his plate, which Adriana caught onto immediately.

 

The second his butt sat down onto the window’s ledge, Adriana leaned back, a sly-but-genuine smile on her lips. “Looks like you picked up a few new habits, I wasn’t expecting you to be that organized.” Her index finger pointed to the meticulously-ordered plate, which appeared to look like a grid full of food.

 

“Ahh, I just don’t like my stuffing and turkey touching. It’s nasty.”

 

“Right…”

 

Everyone was stuffing their faces in with the food and passing around different plates of appetizers, and Lance realized that they must have done the dinner’s prayer without him.

 

“So, Francisco, how’s sophomore year going?” Their grandpa pointed the gravy-smothered spoon to the second-oldest brother, a jolt coming out from him.

 

“A-ah, it’s going well! I have all A’s, and I have a ninety-five in Physics right now. It should have been a ninety-seven, if I calculated right…”

 

“Wow, Fran, that’s great!” Adriana rustled the unevenly-parted hair of the nervous boy, all the front-teeth baring out in a giant smirk. “I thought Physics was a senior class? Either way, I’m extremely proud of you, following in cousin Javier’s footsteps. _Pay for my loans and debt when you get a job_.”

 

Snickers broke out from the whole table, but Lance was the only one silent. Instead of him feeling like he was a part of the whole discussion, he thought of himself as more of an outsider; an intruding character. The group of people in front of him felt more like a family without him involved, and he painfully knew how much his father would have enjoyed that.

 

 _Not having the family disappointment bother you anymore, wouldn’t that be the best for them all_? Absentmindedly twirling his spoon around the cornbread stuffing, he continued observing the lighthearted exchanges across the table, not throwing in his two cents on any debates arising amongst them.

 

“Lance, speaking of school, how are your studies coming?”

 

Adrian’s cold voice made trembles fly through Lance’s entire body, spoon clanking down onto the expensive plate. A few pairs of eyes landed on him, suddenly engrossed in the surprising inquiry from the most silent family member. Lance cleared his throat, trying to formulate a decent response to the question. “Um… same old, same old- ?”

 

“Hahaha, dad, you spilled some grease on your shirt! Do you want me to get another one out from the car?” Tatiana interrupted Lance’s train of thought, hands rapidly waving in the air in an attempt to stop the discussion.

 

“Why do you never get better in school? Your grades have never been able to meet up with Adriana’s and Francisco’s. Maybe you should drop out.”

 

Francisco bit down on his lip, fiddling around with his fingers underneath the table cloth. “Dad… not this again.”

 

Martha awkwardly shoved a huge piece of turkey in her mouth, shaking her head at Lance to not speak another word about the topic. For being a horrendous witch, she possessed some common sense and intuition.

 

“I’m just saying, it’s not something I can take pride in. Imagine having all your co-workers asking about your family, and never having anything positive to say. It’s disappointing, to say the least.”

 

Turmoil replaced the friendly atmosphere around the group of people, as Lance’s hand convulsed fiercely despite him clutching onto the plate with all his might. Danny’s obnoxious chewing was sending him even more overboard, making both of his eyebrows furrow down as he frowned.

 

Tatiana’s legs bounced rapidly, the sound of denim scratching against wood making everyone’s skin crawl.

 

The last straw was either Liana’s heavy breathing, or the lip-smacking of their grandfather. Valeria slammed her fists onto the table, a bit of her food spilling out onto the costly cloth. “¡Ya Basta!  For Christ’s sake! Once, just once, can we have a _nice_ dinner?! It’s _Thanksgiving_!”

 

“Valeria, this isn’t about you!” Lance’s dad grunted at his wife, a few gasps coming from across the table. “There’s nothing happening, okay? If he wasn’t here, I wouldn’t be so pissed!”

 

“¡ _Cállate, cállate!”_

 

“Tú también, Francisco!”

 

Lance jumped down from the windowsill, stomping into the kitchen to wrap up his plate and clean it off. “Carajo…” His voice croaked, his mother twisting her head to the left to stare him down. “Sorry for ruining everything, like always. Have your nice family dinner, since I’m clearly not needed here.” Flashing one last forced simper, Lance hastily slumped to his bedroom, fists balling up until they turned paper-white.

 

Before he could slam the door shut, a foot propped its way between the crack, shoving it back open. Adriana, with crossed arms, was leaning on the doorframe, eyes squinting menacingly at the cracking boy.

 

“Why didn’t you backtalk papa? You always do.”

 

“I’m not in the mood…”

 

“Bullshit, there’s something weird going on with you. You already lost some weight, you have dark circles, your knuckles are loaded with scabs…” A tiny heave paused the rant mid-way through, Adriana’s forehead wrinkles coming into view as she grimaced. “Hey, I just wanna talk with you, can you let me in?”

 

The window, broken mirror, and blood stains flashed before his eyes when he blinked, his hands shooting up to close the door. He would try his hardest to avoid another confrontation before the secret came out, and even though his living conditions were brutal, Lance still refused to confess the truth about the abuse when it came to his family.

 

“No way, it’s a mess in here-“

 

“Why is that any different than back home? You always trashed the bathroom, too. I’m practically desensitized to everything.”

 

“No!”

 

“ _LANCE_!” Adriana pummeled her shoulder into the door, pushing Lance down onto the floor. Her sneakers stepped right over one of the coffee stains before she realized how repulsive the carpet was, along with the peeling wallpaper and the duct taped window. The mirror reflected her body in broken fragments, along with Lance’s terrified countenance. “Lance… is that blood?”

 

His fingers curled into the crusting carpet, dirt and dust embedding their way into his nails. Adriana slowly turned around, appalled by the shattered mirror the most. “Lance, answer me. Is that blood? Did you do all of this?” Both of their breaths hitched at the last word, a shudder traveling through the shoulder blades of the cowardly boy. “Lance!”

 

“No!” The crack in his voice was exceedingly clear, his older sister anxiously swallowing from the outburst. “Not… not all of it, can we drop this?”

 

“There’s no way in hell we’re dropping it, you’re being beaten?! That’s sick! You need to leave here-“

 

“And go _where_?! Huh, Adriana?” Lance’s legs wobbled as he stood up, lips quivering from panic. “Mama and Papa hate my guts! They always have, and you fucking know that the _most_ out of them all! They were the ones who threw me out! How much better would it be to stay with them? It’s the same anywhere I go! Nobody accepts it for how things are, this family is a shitty disaster!”

 

Barefoot toes coiled into the floor, his voice gradually becoming more unsteady as he continued. “I don’t know what’s better, getting the life beaten out of me, or constantly getting yelled at and insulted back home! Why does it have to come to physical bruises to understand how bad I’ve had it?! For fucking **years** , Adriana! Years!”

 

“Lance, please hear me out before-“

 

“Just _leave_! Leave me alone!” He aided her out of the room, smacking the door shut and locking it. Pounding fists and screams continued from his sister, but Lance paid no attention to it – he was occupied by tearing off the duct tape from the window, and trying to bottle up the growing anxiety to dodge the incoming panic attack. Rain was beginning to drizzle outside the window, but that didn’t stop him from ripping off the tape as if it was a bandage.

 

Droplets of water landed on his abdomen and spread as more tape was slashed off, until his entire shirt and the band of his jeans were soaked. The last piece was crumpled up and discarded into the bedroom, and he ungracefully rolled himself out the hole, almost falling face-forward on the slippery grass.

 

Once again, he was on the run from his toxic family, but this time, without shoes nor a schoolbag. The gravel from the road was digging into the skin of his feet, popping open blisters and forming new cuts amongst the heels. Lightning was striking down in the direction he was headed, but he continued down the street, sprinting down block after block before he slowed down.

 

 Pants and winces escaped out of his throat every other second, a limp starting to develop from his exhausting movements. No druggies were out on their front porches today, and there were no fights in the woods behind any of the houses either.

 

The creaking steps was the last thing Lance had to endure with his swelling, bleeding feet, before he would get solace. His right hand knocked five times on the unhinged door, an unsettling vibe surrounding the entire place.

 

“Who the fuck – Lance?”

 

Crooking his head upwards, Lance made eye contact with Rolo, who was peering out one of the windows on the second floor. A weak wave was directed to the sleepless fellow upstairs, before his shaking arm could no longer keep it up. “Yeah, would you mind if I came in?”

 

“Door’s always open, dude. Plus, it’s broken, so you could’ve just came in anyways.”

 

With a nod of acknowledgement, Lance tapped the door open a bit more so he could fit, and closed it to the best of his abilities. The ominous aura of the house was not easy to avoid, considering that Lance has been here at both the highest and lowest moments.

 

Rolo came down the stairs, a ghastly expression painted over the greying color of his cheeks. “Jesus, you need to sleep, Rolo.”

 

“Insomnia’s a bitch, even more-so than my culinary teacher.” His hand gestured in a ‘whatever’ notion, going back up the steps once Lance got to the base of the staircase. “I’ve been binging documentaries on Netflix, so you can do whatever you want. Sorry, but I’m not really too energetic right now.”

 

“Completely understandable. Actually, would you mind if I used your bathroom?”

 

Arching his head back to make contact with Lance’s face, Rolo’s plaque-covered teeth bared a cheesy smile, even though it was absolutely artificial. “Sure thing, bud. Take your time! If you need anything, I’ll be lounging out in my room.”

 

Lance gave one last bob of the head before Rolo went back into his wreck of a room, empty pizza boxes and Chinese food cartons askew on the floor. Giving a tiny snicker to his friend’s actions, Lance navigated his way throughout the second-floor, grabbing a towel on his way to the same bathroom where he found Keith and the Anonymous Man hooking up only weeks before.

 

The water was set to a sweltering-hot temperature and the pressure was extremely rough, gushing down pelts of heat onto Lance’s back. Although it stung, the burning sensation was an agonizingly-good alleviation to the chaos scurrying throughout his brain. Multiple splinters were entombed all throughout his feet, a couple of yelps and wails bouncing around the walls when he tore them out.

 

Blood no longer was rare for him to witness, and Lance gawked down at the garnet-dyed water flushing down the drain without a trace of sensitivity left within him. Devoid of disgust and care, Lance carried on with plucking out the grains of gravel and letting the water burn his back until it was raw.

 

\--

 

“You look like a tomato.”

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Lance snorted, trampling down to Rolo’s bed and dampening it with his wet hair. “I’m tired, but not at the same time.”

 

“I gotchu’ fam. Wanna watch _iZombie_ with me? It’s actually really fucking interesting.”

 

Lance accepted the left-earbud Rolo offered, the shabby HP laptop playing the episode with a hazy quality. Normally, the 360-resolution of the video would make him go berserk, but his mind was elsewhere despite his eyes being glued onto the dirty screen. He wondered what happened at his grandfather’s house while he was gone, how Allura and Shay’s Thanksgiving was going, if Nyma was safe in custody, and what _Keith_ was doing.

 

“Hey, Rolo?”

 

“Hmmm?”

 

“Do you…. Do you know about Keith Kogane?”

 

Rolo’s thumb pressed down immediately on the spacebar, pausing the episode on a rather-gory scene. “Why do you ask?”

 

Repositioning himself, Lance ogled down at the keyboard, brainstorming for answers that wouldn’t sound too creepy or hint at his prying.

 

“I think I like him.” A string of curses followed the blurted statement, his thumb, middle and index finger rubbing circles into his forehead.

 

The left corner of Rolo’s mouth hoisted up a bit, the grooves of his front teeth being displayed throughout his chapped lips. “About time you like someone, dude. But yeah, I know a bit about him. I used to talk to him in… shit, middle school? Around seventh grade until last year.”

 

Lance’s eyebrows flew up in shock, the pads of his fingers tapping onto the laptop in anticipation. “Shit, what happened? Now I’m really interested.”

 

“It’s like, a novel of shit, my dude.” The two cackled from the eloquent way of words he had, but the raspy, tired voice continued, capturing Lance’s full attention. “He moved here from Miami by himself, he’s been living in that same house for years. Some unrelated guardian was there, too, but moved out in our freshman year. Anyways, he’s always been kind of a… bad influence? To put it lightly. I mean, yeah, I am too, but he kinda’ gave off the vibe of a shithead.”

 

Pausing to drink his bottle of Mountain Dew, Rolo smacked his lips dramatically to emphasize he still had more to say, stuffing the bottle into his lap. “Basically, I found out he was involved in a lot of heavy shit, man. He’s a prostitute, and I’m not against it or anything, but a _thirteen_ year old? I don’t know when he started, but I walked in on it happening with some old man across the street. No matter how many times I tried to get him to leave the job, he kept refusing, and saying that he ‘ _couldn’t_ ’ do it. Keith, despite being smart, wasn’t able to get himself out of that shitty life. As a last resort, I begged him to do something else – anything else – and he did; hacking bank accounts online.” A tense huff whistled out of his mouth, the nail of his thumb scratching the cap of the soda bottle.

 

“One of his neighbors caught on to his sketchy behavior, so he’s been in and out of juvie more times than I can count on my two hands. After middle school, it started getting really bad… a lot of bruises and cuts were all over him, and there was nothing I could do about it, dude. You know how hard it is to see your friend ruin their own life, and not have any say in fixing it? It fucking _sucks_ , and I still feel like garbage for not helping him pull his life together. Anyways; yeah, he’s never been the same after sophomore year, thanks to his asshole of an ex. He even broke our friendship, and isolated himself. Keith only spoke to the druggies of our town after that-“

 

“His _ex_?”

 

Rolo blinked four times in disbelief, before his pupils dilated in realization. “You don’t know about Elliot Fischer?”

 

“No clue…”

 

The honk of a car startled the two boys, the laptop crashing down to the wooden floor with a heartbreaking _crack_. “Fuck! Shit, man… I forgot I called in Dominos when you were in the shower. I’ll be right back, don’t watch more of the episode without me!”

 

“But-“

 

“ _Alright, alright, I’m fucking coming! Stop honking the horn, damnit!_ ”

 

Lance’s hand scraped through his hair, not believing how easily Rolo dropped the intense topic for a _pizza_.

 

A buzz ceased his suspicious thoughts, fishing out the phone from underneath his frozen-cold butt. There was a spam of notifications from Adriana blowing up his feed, an influx of texts still coming in as he swiped right to unlock his phone.

 

Beyond the twenty-two texts from his sister, there was a number right underneath her contact that was nameless, a strange area code confusing him even more. The text was sent to fifteen other numbers, all without any title in his phone. With a newfound sense of braveness, he tapped open the wordless message, preparing to land on some obscene photo or video from the internet.

 

There was a sudden penetration of warmth striking his heart, eyes firmly planted on the adorable, yet simple, picture of the nameless number. Keith was giving a peace sign to the camera, a group of people sitting behind him in the airport. Lance zoomed in on the destination name displayed on the TV screen behind the attractive boy, reading the Hangul and English words for _Seoul_.

 

Another message came from the number, flooding Lance simultaneously with antipathy and yearning:

_ Going to the homeland, see you in a week! _

 

“Man, they forgot to stuff the crust with cheese! This is _blasphemy_! I’m gonna have to sue them.”

 

Lance wasn’t sure if Keith’s text, or Rolo’s unexpected re-entry, was the reason why his heart was beating as fast as the speed of light.

 

\--

 

Friday morning’s sun pierced through the sheer curtains in Rolo’s room, Lance groaning as he tried to roll around in the bed. A pair of arms contained his movement, which woke the boy straight up from his barely-awake state.

 

“Rolo, Rolo. Oi, Rolo,”

 

“Hnnnnnnnnnn~”

 

“For fucks sake… get up!” Lance forcefully inched the clingy, cuddling-fellow off him, Rolo dropping down onto the wooden floor. Somehow, the impact didn’t break the deep sleep he was in, and Lance was grateful that he wasn’t the reason why Rolo would lose even _more_ sleep.

 

Squirming down to the end of the bed, Lance burrito-wrapped himself in the smelly blanket, leaving just his feet out so he could properly traipse out of the room. The wooden floor was almost glacial underneath the beaten-up soles, causing him to quickly tiptoe out of the room and onto the soft, cozily-warm carpet of the hallway.

 

The margarita-glass shaped clock in the kitchen downstairs read _5:13 AM_ , and he physically felt a part of him die because of how drastically _early_ it was. A strung-out yawn was the only sound throughout the whole area beyond the crickets, having an awfully-tranquil feeling to it.

 

Humming the first _Black Keys_ song that came to his mind, Lance snooped around the cupboards to find coffee beans, flicking on the lights in the process. Matching the hummed-beat by tapping the balls of his feet on the tiles, Lance playfully danced his way around the kitchen, picking up the coffee carafe and filling it with water all the way to the bar of 8.

 

Rolo’s house had the same coffee machine that he did, and the second his middle finger pressed down on the green BREW option, Lance was already sliding over to the refrigerator, stomach grumbling for something other than pizza to eat. There was one leftover container of vegetable lo mein from the local (and only) Chinese food restaurant, and Lance prayed that Rolo wouldn’t be too pissed at him for finishing it at this ungodly hour.

 

Most of the bowls had cracks in it that crumbled off ceramic dust when touched.

 

His last resort was using two more coffee mugs to eat out of.

 

Watching the time pass on the margarita clock was strangely comforting to him, the hands not rocking back-and-forth like the cheap ones that school provided. Once the second-hand hit the 6th number, Lance clicked open the microwave, dipping a fork straight into the banana-yellow mug with a smiley face printed on it. Steam rose from both of the mugs, heat burning the skin between both of his thumbs and index fingers. All he wanted was to shovel down the food and guzzle down his daily dosage of caffeine. _What was a few more scorches to him_?

 

Securing himself in the rickety-chair at the table, he blew four times on the noodles before devouring the entire fork-full of food. The broken window adjacent to where he was exhibited the astonishing colors painted in the sky, a range of purples, blues, and pinks blending into each other.

 

“ _Bwutiful_ ,” his muffled-voice spoke from the mouthful of lo mein, chewing down nearly-quietly. While he maintained a steady pace of alternating between coffee and noodles, his focus was mostly situated on the changing color-schemes in the sky, mentally connecting the visible constellations to the hidden stars behind the trees.

 

The clock ticks and crickets was bringing him back down to his usual senses, being the calmest he’s been since moving….

Until there was a face peeking into the house from the window, startling the serene boy. Coffee dribbled down his shirt from the shocked cough he had, war flashbacks coming back to him when Allura did the same exact thing only a few days prior.

 

“Who’s there?!”

 

“Shhh, Lance, get your ass over here!”

 

“ _Adriana_?!” Blindingly-white teeth beamed at her brother, who was slurping the last of his ‘healthy’ breakfast. “How the hell, why are you here? How did you get here?”

 

“Tracked your phone. ‘S what you get for leaving me on read.” Her phone’s bright lock screen gleamed in the dimly-lit morning, making Lance’s eyelids twitch from the insane illumination the phone gave off. “Let’s go home, I brought you some turkey fried rice. I made sure nobody finished it, because I know it’s always been your favorite.”

 

Pursing his lips, the two siblings had an intense stare-off, his mind generating trillions of questions and reactions each second.

 

“Is it extra-peppered?”

 

“Hell yeah it is.”

 

“…. I’m coming.”

 

A dramatic, over-excited ‘yes’ eased out from Adriana’s mouth, Lance groaning while his back cracked once he stood up. His arms practically juggled the three mugs on his trip to the kitchen sink, veraciously scrubbing off all the film and food from the cups before placing them in the drying board.

 

Double-checking that his phone was still in his back pocket, Lance sped-walked over to his impatient sister, wonkily-wobbling himself out the demolished window. The smell of turkey fried rice made his still-hungry stomach growl even louder than before, a tiny blush dispersing across his cheeks from embarrassment.

 

Adriana popped open the Tupperware’s lid, and secured a tablespoon in between his curling fingers. Once he began to dive into the lukewarm rice, she leaned her head back onto the house’s chipping-wood siding. “Dad slapped Fran after dinner.” Lance choked on the rice, eyes centering in on his sister’s grim countenance. “There’s a lot of things that I’ve missed, and I’m really sorry for that. I never realized just how bad it got once I went off to Washington, but the past twenty-four hours truly brought out the ugliest in our family.”

 

One of her calloused hands gripped onto Lance’s thigh, a soft expression replacing the cold-exterior she projected two-seconds beforehand. “Don’t think that nobody realizes it, because if I can, that means others will, too. And I’ll always have your back, even if that means I should drop out and adopt you all. Because I would, in a heartbeat.”

 

Swallowing down the mushy-rice, Lance poked her puffy cheek in response, his small laugh soothing the two of them. “Don’t drop out, it’ll be fine eventually. What else happened while I was gone?”

 

“Let’s see… abuelo smashed a plate on the wall, Martha smoked everyone out of the house, mama and papa fought outside, and I had to disinfect the huge gash on Fran’s temple. Everything else was fine.”

 

“I love how nonchalant that was.”

 

“What can I say? We Ramirez kids can be ruthless.”

 

“Damn right we can.”

 

The two bared the other a creepily-wide grin, breaking out into hysterics only seconds after from their uncanny resemblance to one another. When they managed to control their soundless wheezes from snickering too hard, Adriana rested her head in the crook between Lance’s shoulders and neck, watching the morning sky develop shades of orange and yellow.

 

“Love you, dickweed.”

 

“Love you too, assface.”

 

“Hey, if my face looks like an ass, so does yours.”

 

“… Shut up, Adriana.”

 

\--

 

6:00, on the dot, was the time the sibling duo arrived back at their grandfather’s, sneaking back into the house via Broken Window. The crimson tints in the carpet were no longer detectable, which puzzled Lance as to how they suddenly disappeared out of nowhere.

 

“Heh, bleach works like a void,” Adriana winked, leaping onto the bare mattress. “Hope you don’t mind, but it was bothering me that it was just sitting there, as if it was a cruel reminder to not act up.”

 

Lance’s fingers dipped into her sides, tickling the soul out of his older sister like they did back in their childhood years. Her foot kicked him right in the kidneys, making him roll over the opposite way from the impact.

“Thanks, I appreciate it. I really needed that.”

 

“I told you, I got your back no matter what.” A drowsy yawn prolonged her final words, her entire body rolling up into fetal position on the edge of the mattress. “I don’t know about you, though, but I’m going to bed. It’s been a long night.”

 

Sticking out his tongue, Lance wrapped the stolen blanket from Keith’s over his sister, fondly watching her recoil into the safe-haven the fleecy cover provided her. “Sleep tight.” Adriana mumbled one last ‘good night’ before dozing off, leaving Lance by himself and a fully-functioning mind.

 

Paintbrushes were poking out of her backpack, stealing Lance’s attention from thinking about anything else. His impulsive side won over, both hands zipping open the bag before he recognized he was even up from the bed.

 

Boxes of brand-new watercolors were shoved into the front pocket of the bag, which he swiped out and placed onto his floor. There was a convenient bottle of unopened water in the side-pouch that was snapped open by the inspired boy.

 

“Sorry, Adriana,” He whispered to the sleeping sister while dipping the thinnest brush into the bottle. Black, turquoise, and dark green were his most-used colors, the paint stroking against one of the sheets of cardstock from the pile of art supplies he kept inside the suitcase from Colorado.

 

Whirls and swirls of blue danced on the paper, a deeper shade of indigo outlining the manifold of blue, curled-lines. Sharp eyes and prominent facial features developed next on the page, along with a _too-loose forest green cardigan sliding off the left shoulder of the character._

_Then two ying-yang symbols on both drawn wrists._

_And a final touch of a black nose ring poking out of the right nostril._

 

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LEAVE THIS BLUE NEIGHBORHOOD 
> 
> alright frfr Lance needs to pursue art bc not only does he look like a piece of fine ass art, he is most def a creative person noBODY CAN TELL ME DIFFERENT THIS IS MY BOOK
> 
> also @mom thanks for making me mad today so i could vent out a whole chapter without struggling
> 
> its 11:55 pm on a sunday and i am so screwed for school in the morning WASSSUPPPPPP


	6. SIX: Blood, Sweat, and Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANOTHER CHAPTER ANOTHER SONG REFERENCE
> 
> honestly i think this might be my favorite one yet bc i felt really inspired today and idk i feel bad for lance so much but the plot matters more than my personal feelings. and it's the longest one yet (6k+ words). we're all suffering together, my friends. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: mentions of bruises/scarring/blood and self-harm, abuse, mental illness, and hospitals 
> 
> LETS GET FUCKED UP MATE THIS CHAPTER RUINED ME

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which keith's character gets more complex in each fucking chapter like DAMN TABITHA CALM DOWN ON YOUR CHARACTERIZATION IT'S BECOMING AN ISSUE, adriana is still the tru mvp of the story, sassy and sarcastic remarks from two of the best ramirez kids, allura is having no one's shit, shiro is becoming a good character bc i love him too much for him to be the bad guy, abuelo gets The Biggest Asshole award smh when will he stop, important parallels between past/future scenes/characters, and Lance being an angst mess and ironically listening to Nirvana kms whY ARE THERE SO MANY SONG REFERENCES INT HIS CHAPPTPTERRR
> 
> ENJOY YOU EMO BASTARDS LOVE YOU ALL THANKS FOR READING  
> also, should i make a playlist for the characters in this story? i love playlists idk but i would totally make one if someone was interested. oKAY FR NOW E N J O Y THE A G O N Y

The odor of drying paint was the first thing that woke Lance from his short nap, but only enough to have a general grasp of the things occurring around him. Sleep inertia was coursing its way throughout his whole body, from the cluster headache to the cotton-like feeling in his mouth, and all the way down to the sick feeling dispersing in his abdomen.

 

A flick to the forehead made his crusty eyes peel wide open, flinching in pain. “What?” An agitated tone croaked in his pronunciation, making the hazy figure raise their eyebrows in shock.

 

“Is that the right way to greet your sister?”

 

Adriana’s voice bounced inside his head, triggering a few pounds to his head. “Ah, it’s too early for this… is there any ibuprofen in here?”

 

“Headache?”

 

“Mhmmm…”

 

“I’ll be right back with two tablets, stay here,” the soft pitter-patters of the heels of her feet was somewhat soothing to Lance, who focused his eyes on the phone blowing up with messages next to him. The blinding white light was enough to irritate him enough to rub his eyes until they unblurred, shakily swiping open one of the notifications on the home screen.

 

Rolo’s selfie was the first message he opened, the clock on Snapchat stating that it was seven twenty-three in the morning, which was positioned right on top of the bottle of vodka in his hand.

 

The cluster headache in his head pounded even more furiously, thinking about the nasty hangover he had last month from that devilish drink.

 

“Take your pills, you _heathen_.”

 

A bottle of water was placed next to Lance’s cold feet, followed by two tablets being plopped into his dry, cracking palms. Nodding to gesture at his appreciation, Lance tossed the two pills into his mouth, and taking a massive gulp of water, swishing the water around to coat his insanely-parched throat. Adriana positioned herself back down onto the carpet, eyes focusing on the recently-painted cardstock next to the suffering boy.

 

After grunting out a prolonged sigh of satisfaction, Lance leaned back on the mattress next to his sister, eyes planted on Rolo’s contact information. “I kind of feel like doing something fun today, but I don’t know what. And it’s still early in the morning.”

 

“How about you go to a friend’s house? I’ll take care of things here.” There was a miniscule lift in the corners of her lips, initiating eye contact with him. “Your neighbor’s back, I was able to meet him for a few seconds.”

 

Lance’s heart leapt at the thought of his neighbor, but confusion also dispersed across his brain like a virus of its own unique nature, simultaneously releasing dopamine and embedding poison into him. “Keith? Why is he back?”

 

“Flight got delayed due to poor weather… speaking of, I think his flight is at ten?”

 

“ _Ten_?”

 

Bobbing her head a few times, Adriana slid down the mattress a bit, extending out her legs to achieve a more-comfortable seat. “Yep. But don’t worry,” a sly, mischievous dilation occurred in her pupils, followed by an emphasizing wink. “I’ve been _asleep_ this _whole time_ , and know _nothing_.”

 

Goosebumps sprouted across both of his arms, legs shooting up and balancing his weight perfectly.

 “I gotta go.”

 

“Mhmmmm…”

 

Adriana rolled herself over to the opposite side of the window Lance squirmed out of, peeking up at the window of his neighbor’s house. A few lights were turned on, which was suitable enough as a reason to go visit. His bare feet felt gross against the dewy, mushy grass, but he continued his run nonetheless, leaping over the fence that divided the two properties from another.

 

The door was wide open, the smell of cheap Ramen noodles and coffee wafting out to the cold outdoors. “Keith! Keith, you’re here, right?”

 

A splash of blue appeared in his vision, the person behind the multitoned-hair wearing an astonished expression. There was a few noodles being hurriedly slurped up as Keith paced forward quickly, loosening his burgundy scarf slightly to reveal the rest of his face.

“Lance, hey! How was your Thanksgiving?” He leaned against the doorframe, breaths hot against the chilly November breeze. “I’m surprised you’re even awake, at this ungodly hour.”

 

“You should have told me… if you still had time before your flight.”

 

His arms crossed against his crocheted-black sweater, causing the ~~pointless~~ leather jacket to tighten against each of the crevices in his muscles.  “Why though?” Lance’s throat narrowed in on itself, a strange realization coursing through his brain.

 

Why _should_ Keith have told him again? They weren’t anything significant; in fact, they were barely friends. When was the last time they had a decent conversation? Or a conversation at _all_?

 

An abrupt sigh distracted him from his thoughts, eyes planting themselves on Keith’s saddened visage. “Come in, I think we should talk before I leave. Close the door behind you,” he straightened out his posture as he turned the opposite way, striding into the kitchen with one hand in his jacket’s pocket.

 

Faint sounds of coffee being poured startled Lance out from his frozen stance, walking into the warm house and clicking the door shut behind him. His lungs felt constricted as he continued forward, observing Keith’s unsettling position in his chair, having both his hands clasped together and pressed against his forehead.

 

His dull pupils shifted to the side, landing on Lance, who was utterly uncomfortable. “Take a seat, please. Have a cup of coffee if that’ll make you stop jittering.” Lance nodded, stiffly going up to the coffee maker and silently grabbing a pale mug from the cupboard. “I’m meeting up with my friend in Seoul, I haven’t seen them in a while, so excuse me for being on edge. They’re gonna be pissed at me for being late, even if it wasn’t my fault. It’s only until Monday that I’m gonna be there.”

 

“That’s nice, meeting friends again…” Lance’s voice cracked mid-way through the offhanded comment, causing him to grit his teeth in embarrassment afterwards.

 

“Yeah, I haven’t seen Elliot since last year’s Christmas party in Miami,” a lighthearted laugh was barely audible against Lance’s cup shattering down onto the tiled floor, coffee splashing onto his sweatpants and all around the kitchen. “Oh gosh, do you need a towel?”

 

“Elliot, **_huh_**? Elliot Fischer?” There was an electrifying annoyance striking down on his heart and soul, millions of twitches generating throughout his shoulders and fingers.

 

Softening his facial features, Keith bent down to brush up the porcelain pieces, attempting to avoid the reddening splotches against Lance’s uncovered ankles. “Yeah, he’s a good friend of mine… graduated in 2014 and left this shithole a year later.” A weak scoff croaked out, along with a nearly-silent sniffle. “How do you know about him?”

 

Biting down on his lower lip to cease the oncoming trembles, Lance closed his eyes in lieu of not breaking _down_ in front of the person who is making him feel this _down_. “Rumors go around fast, I guess. Didn’t you- um, didn’t you date him?”

 

Keith’s finger gently poked at the creases forming between his eyebrows, making Lance’s eyes land on the fully-opened, widespread and genuine smile on Keith’s lips. Time seemed to freeze in that very instance, Keith’s grin becoming distorted and hazy in his vision. The agonizingly painful feeling felt as if fires blazed within his body, going wild and burning all his organs until they left ashes. A faceless figure taunted him in his mind, clawing his brain apart and leaving nothing positive behind.

 

All Lance could cling onto were the ruins of himself, and even though he knew that everything was falling apart, he couldn’t do anything to stop it from happening. A peculiar paralysis controlled him, making it appear to Lance that it wasn’t his own body anymore.

 

“Silly – let’s go clean up, yeah? I have to be out of here in a few minutes.”

 

Salty tears streamed down his cheeks, Lance falling down onto the floor the second after Keith left to get a towel. An overwhelming and heartbreaking flood of emotions ate at his consciousness, choked sobs progressively getting louder with each struggled-breath he made.

 

“Alright, now I just need an ice pack- Lance?”

 

“Don’t…” Lance held out his snot-covered hand, eyes bloodshot and stinging. “I can’t… just don’t come over here…”

 

“What are you talking about? You have burns all down your leg, you need to ice it-“

 

“Like it’s anything _new_ to me, Keith! I have burns across my entire back – you name a spot of the back, it’ll be red and raw. I could care less if you feel like you need to help me lessen the pain, because somehow, it _always_ gets worse when you get involved with me.”

 

Keith crouched down onto the floor, eyes almost lined up with Lance’s tear-filled ones. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

 

A trigger was set off inside Lance, making all his bottled-up wrath and woe diffuse out of him. “You always _hurt me_! One way or the other, it’s always… always tied back to you! I fucking can’t deal with it anymore! You’re killing me – hell, I’m killing myself because of you, and because I hate myself for not being able to hate every single fucking inch of you for what pain you’ve dumped me in!”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Don’t ‘ _huh’_ me like you’re clueless, I know just how much of a smartass you are!” Lance shoved Keith away while he scooted up from the floor, coffee dampening his shirt and pants in the process. “There’s a cycle to your madness – you greet me, cause me grief, and you give a half-ass apology so I could forgive you. I don’t forgive, and I most _definitely_ don’t forget. You’ve been confusing me this goddamn entire month, and I feel like I’m constantly running around in circles to please you. Not even my own self! It's always about you! And _why_? Why, huh? Because from the start, I’ve liked the living _fuck_ out of you, and I have no idea why, since all you do to me is make me even more depressed with each stare… With each word spoken, with each breath taken, with each encounter.”

 

The two never once took their eyes off of the other, even if Lance was covered in tears and snot, with a flushed color plastered across his cheeks.

 

“You may be fucked up, Keith, but… you’ve fucked me up even more in the end.”

 

An alarm blared from Keith’s pulsating pocket, making Lance sneer at the ironic interruption. His feet guided him out from the house before the boy could retort, anguish smothering him until it was nearly impossible to breath comfortably. Adriana’s head bobbed down the second Lance found her staring, who rolled his eyes at the action.

 

“Never a boring moment, for fucks sake…”

 

He didn’t look back to see if Keith chased him out, because Lance knew the depressing truth of the situation. He wasn’t anyone special to him; he didn’t belong there with him, when Keith’s affections were meant for a different person.

 

\--

 

“Lance, stop blasting ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ already! It’s been on replay for _four hours_!”

 

“Fuck off, Martha!”

 

Continuing his raspy-screaming of the lyrics, he stared-down the painting of Keith that Adriana propped up by the door until his eyes blinked, and repeated the cycle until someone would be brave enough to disrupt it.

 

Before he clicked the replay button again on his computer, his grandfather kicked the door open, hands reaching down to unbuckle his belt in a threatening way. “The hell you doin’? Go help your family prepare lunch-“

 

“What family? Nobody cares in the first place.”

 

“Of course they wouldn’t, you’re not anyone special to them. A disturbed-middle child in the midst of a successful family – who would want that burden on their hands?”

 

The bassline of “Black Hole Sun” kicked in from his laptop, making his grandfather grunt in annoyance.

 

“Y’fucking kidding me,” his feet stomped in, accidentally stepping onto the painted cardstock. “Fuckin’ hell, boy! Your room is a mess, too! Clean your act and pull it together!” A bony, wrinkly hand reached down to grab the piece of paper, cold eyes squinting down at it once it was flipped to show the multicolored person.

 

“Shit,” Lance stood up quickly, arms reaching out to steal the painting of Keith from his homophobic grandfather. Liana was walking up to Lance’s room, waving her hand in a cordial matter.

 

The gesture distracted Lance long enough to not realize the metal-belt being slapped across his face, the buckle scratching too-close to his eye.

 

“You’re _disgusting_ , Lance Ramirez.” The older man spat into his face, whipping his burnt-back multiple times, and with a power Lance never noticed he possessed. While the belt snapped down onto his skin, a few more family members came into the hallway, Adriana trying to cover little Liana and Danny’s eyes. Francisco was being held back by Tatiana, who winced each time the leather cracked against her brother.

 

“Stop…”

 

“What’d you say, eh? I can’t hear you.” _Snap_. “No grandson of mine will ever be involved in such gross habits. It’s a **sin** , it’s **inhumane**!” _Snap_.

 

Blood was splattering down onto the freshly-bleached carpet, spreading even more when the tears falling out of Lance’s eyes splashed against the crimson-spots. The sounds of skin being whipped was frightening everyone around them, even reaching all the way to the Witch, who nonchalantly smoked her cigarette as she averted her gaze onto something else.

 

The weeps died down with each strike, but the insults extended on for a longer period – Lance wasn’t sure if the physical or mental impact of the beating was bothering him more.

 

Once he finally broke down and tumbled down onto the bloody floor, his grandfather stopped hitting him, proudly strolling out of the room with a bountiful supply of red-stains and dead skin surrounding his grandson’s shivering frame. Martha’s cigarette was thrown into his room, and landed only a few centimeters away from the suffering boy.

 

“I know,” Lance’s muffled-voice rung out throughout his sobs, sounding extremely weak and broken. “I know… I know I am… I am disgusting. I shouldn’t even- even exist, I know. I know… I’m the disappointment in the f-family…” The dirty fabric tickled his tongue with each word spoken, until he finally passed out from the heavy beating he endured.

 

Adriana guided the kids out of the house once she witnessed Lance's faint, giving them strict directions on ‘only being able to bike around this street only.’ The nails in her balled-fists made indents into her mocha-skin, but she wasn’t worried about herself.

 

She decided to take on all her family’s burdens into her own hands.

Storming back into the house, Adriana impulsively stole a knife from the kitchen, and waited until her grandpa and Martha stepped out of their bedroom.

 

“I’m tellin’ you, Carlos, he might have to be hospitalized-“

 

“Do I care? Not one bit, he deserved that. I won’t tolerate any more of his bullshit.”

 

“Who’s the one tolerating the others’ bullshit?” Adriana stepped out of her hiding position in the kitchen, knife still hidden behind her back. “You abused him enough to lose so much blood and skin. He endured that, and I know that wasn’t the first time, because I washed out the previous blood in his floor.”

 

An irritated groan rasped out of the elder’s throat, waving his hand idly in the air to dismiss her. “Yeah, yeah, things are different now. If he was my son, he wouldn’t even be alive after that. I’ve mellowed out in my years-“

 

The knife was pointed right into his face, Martha shrieking from the sight of it.

 

“Hey, Adriana-“

 

“Don’t you **_dare_** place your hands on him again.”

 

Valeria and Adrian stepped inside, carrying bags from their shopping visit in Ocala. Both of their gazes were frozen on their daughter, horrified gasps coming from the two parents.

 

“Adriana! _Por favor...._  suéltalo,” Adrian was hustling up to his daughter, whose teeth were bared out in an animalistic fashion.

 

Carlos held his hands up, trying to contain the growing smirk on his lips. “ _My bad_ , I apologize. It won’t happen again.” Adriana refused to put the knife down, but her grandfather forced her to let go, swirling his grasp around it and placing it back into the kitchen. “Let’s get started on lunch, alright?”

 

Clapping his hands, Carlos side-stepped into the kitchen, followed by everyone else but Valeria, who gave Adriana a stern countenance of disappointment.

 

“What was that for, Adriana?”

 

“Why don’t you go check in on your _son_ , who you discarded like a piece of garbage?” Valeria’s hand instantly swooped up and slapped Adriana’s cheek in shock, making the eldest daughter snicker with ill intentions. “No wonder he’s had it bad, you’re just like your shit father, mama.” Her focus landed on her grandfather as she slumped out of the dining room. “I’m going to the hospital with your son, don’t you dare come to visit us. It’s all clear now; you couldn’t give two shits about him.”

 

The resolve to repair everything was all that the eldest Ramirez daughter possessed, even throwing away her repulsion for blood when she lifted Lance up and gave him a piggyback ride to her car, resting his lifeless body in the back seats.

 

\--

 

Blinding lights and incessant beeping steadily woke the bruised boy, who was composed of darkened shades of greens, reds, blues, and purples. The first thing his crusted eyes landed on were the IVs threaded into his veins, unpleasantly disturbing his barely-conscious self.

 

“Hey, you’re up.”

 

Adriana crouched down so Lance didn’t have to move his sore neck to look at her, an upsettingly-fake smile plastered on her cracking lips. “Welcome back to Earth, Lance. Do you still dream of other planets when you sleep, like you did when you were young?” Lance squinted suspiciously at her, believing for a split-second that she could read his mind. “I’ll take that as a yes… at least it was a pleasant dream.”

 

“Why am I in the hospital, Addie?” A gratingly-hoarse tone coated his words, especially on Adriana’s childhood nickname. Nothing was adding up to the still-loopy boy in the bed, except for the fact that his entire backside was aching and itching.

 

“Haven’t heard that name in years,” Adriana’s hand reached up to lightly grasp Lance’s dry, scabbing knuckles, compassion flowing throughout her chestnut-brown irises. “You’ve been in the hospital for almost five days now… you had to get stitches and you were running a horrendous fever from getting beaten up by abuelo. That piece of shit-“

 

Lance sat up hurriedly, pulse racing from the shock of her words. “I’m late for school, I gotta go... I have so many tests and projects due this week-“

 

“You’re hospitalized, Lance.”

 

“So!”

 

“ ‘So’ my _ass_! Sit back down and get treated, you’ll be released either tomorrow, or Friday. Your health comes first, and you should know that school is not something to risk your life for. Rest, now.”

 

Pouting his lips stubbornly in defiance, he maintained the arduous position despite the gruesome throbbing and stinging cycling around his back. Adriana had to physically push him down to get him to stop, but before he could come back up, her hand rested on his forehead to check on his temperature.

 

“Yeah, definitely not happening on my watch. I think that’s a fever around 102 degrees.” Lance’s agitated grunts barely phased her at this point, mumbling some incoherent response to his poor behavior. “Your friends are coming back again to visit you later, along with that smoking hot teacher of yours. Oh damn, he’s so hot-“

 

“Fucking gross.”

 

“Hell yeah I am… a nasty woman.” Lance weakly flicked her off, making a ruckus of different laughs come out of his sister. “Seriously, he’s the hottest piece of ass I’ve ever seen in my life, he needs an award… The Hottest Male Alive. He made this year a success, I don’t care if that’s being melodramatic, it has made this entire year a solid ten-out-of-ten.”

 

“Stop your horny babbling already, I am an injured man trying to get some sleep.”

 

“Alright, alright, alright, _goodnight my sweet prince_.”

 

“OUT!”

 

With one last cackle, Adriana stumbled out of the room, continuing her chuckle-rampage all the way down the hallway. All that was left in the room was Lance and the constant sounds of a clock ticking and a machine beeping.

 

The door creaked right before he could fall back into a comfortable sleep, boots clacking against the floor until they reached the foot of the bed.

 

“Who’s there?”

 

“Diophantus and Hipparchus, the people you hate the most.”

 

The gruff voice sent shivers down Lance’s spine, his eyes widening in response. “How do you know I hate them so much?”

 

“I’ve heard your rant to Allura in class before, I’m not an idiot, Ramirez.” The cheap hospital bed had a dip in it when his teacher sat down without permission, the scar on his nose being accentuated by the blinding-yellow lighting in the room. “How are you doing, though? We’ve all been worried about your absence from school, since your parents never told us anything was wrong.”

 

Lance let out a choked jeer at Shiro’s comment, both hands balling up at his sides. “My parents could care less, they kicked me out. And I’m living with my abusive grandparents, which is the reason I am in this place to begin with. Any more questions, Mr. Shirogane?”

 

The sharp jaw of Shiro’s clenched up after the sarcastic remark, furrowing his eyebrows in sympathy for his student. “Listen, I’m not trying to be the bad guy here. I’m only trying to grasp the situation for what it really is, and I’ve wanted to apologize for my poor behavior last month. I get really… protective over Keith, because I’ve known him since he was a kid.”

 

Lance lifted his left eyebrow inquisitively, slowly repositioning himself on the bed so he could see Shiro even better. “Oh, really? You’re truly sorry?” His petty resolve fell apart when Shiro’s puppy-dog eyes had flickered a compassionate glint when he blinked. “Fine… but you owe me a lot.”

 

“Sure, anything. I’m really sorry for that.”

 

“Could you… tell me about Elliot Fischer?”

 

Shiro’s fingers dove deep into the white bedsheets, a disgruntled expression painting over his usually-emotionless countenance. “Excuse my language, but you’re sure you want to know about that bastard?” Sweat was beginning to drip down his temples, but Lance nodded in approval, curiosity swimming around his mind.

 

“Well… Elliot was Keith’s first real boyfriend, who he started dating back in his freshman year. It was the first year I began teaching at the school, so I had that little shit in my class when he became a senior. While he was in twelfth grade, Keith was a sophomore, and that was the year I noticed things starting to change around him. Of course, he’s always had a difficult past, but that was really… worrying to see. Elliot was a hardcore kind-of kid, always getting into fights, destroying property, and doing all kinds of drugs. “  
  
“Around the second quarter of his sophomore year, Keith became isolated from all his friends, and was always being pushed around by Elliot. He was abused in every kind of way from that poor excuse of a person… I really don’t want to go into the details of it, but let’s say that Elliot’s behavior was so rash, we had to get the police involved during their last fight. Windows were broken, walls were covered in holes and blood, and Keith was bruised from head-to-toe. All because he believed that Elliot really loved him, and that he truly loved him back. He thought that this was his punishment for his life choices, for being forced into a sex exchange at the age of eleven, and never stopping even though he moved out of Miami.”

 

Shiro’s pause was long enough for Lance to formulate a completely different perspective of Keith, Elliot, and Shiro, not paying any attention to how his heart rate was dangerously-accelerating with each passing second.

 

“Listen, I know Keith has his fair share of lows – boy, do I know – but he’s not a terrible kid. He’s just lost, and he has trouble moving on from the past. He still thinks there’s some good left in Elliot, no matter how many times I try to convince him that it was an abusive relationship.” A tiny-but-wistful beam was directed towards the sick boy, Shiro’s dimples being fully displayed. “I think you could have a positive influence on him if he’s willing to try; change comes in many forms and many ways.”

 

The words hit Lance’s heart with intense force, almost as if it was a direct blow to his pride. In an effort to avoid Shiro’s dazzling-bright and earnestly hopeful smile, he averted his attention to the glass in the door, getting goosebumps when he saw Adriana drooling over his teacher from behind the window.

 

“Damnit, Adriana!”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You’re so creepy! Stop that, oh my God, he’s like thirty years old!” The scratchy pillow was thrown over to the window, and Shiro’s ego shattered at the ‘thirty’ comment in Lance’s rant. “What do you want?!”

 

“Shay and Rolo are here…” The drool coming from Adriana’s mouth was enough to make his teacher shudder along with him, the ominous aura coming from his sister having a frightening effect on the both of them.

 

\--

 

Lance was changing back into his pajamas, Shay bouncing her leg in anticipation behind the bathroom door so she could officially sign him out of the hospital. Heavy opiates were prescribed to him in case he had any violent aches or pain, and he was still feeling a little drugged-up from the last bits of morphine they provided him three hours prior.

 

“You alright?” Shay’s sweet voice whispered, having a soothing effect on Lance.

 

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute,” swooping his arm into the right sleeve of the jacket he borrowed from Allura, Lance still had his focus centered in on the freshly-cleaned mirror, observing the contusions and scars developing on his unclothed and exposed skin. 

 

The color blue was slowly becoming one of intense hatred to him, and yet, he was coated in a sickly-cerulean shade.

 

Suppressing any uprising insecurities, he closed his eyelids shut, and navigated himself out of the large bathroom. Shay’s arm was extended for him to hold onto, and he accepted the offer, intertwining their forearms as she traipsed onwards. The stench of antiseptics followed behind them, unsettling the nervous boy even more.

 

He could have been seriously injured. He could have been in poor conditions, like the nice kids he met during his stay that were suffering from innumerable ailments and diseases. And yet, it petrified him even more to go home, than to reside in such a place of negativity.

 

December has finally kicked in, along with the contrition and sorrow that was paired with the winter months.

 

Rolo and Allura waved them closer to the parking lot, Adriana dozing off in the backseat of her _own_ car. “Oi, Lance, get your ass over here! We got a whole week’s worth of hugs to make up for.” Rolo tapped the figurative clock on his wrist, Lance rolling his eyes for the millionth time at his friend.

 

“I’m coming, you shithead,” Lance stuck his tongue out in a mocking-fashion, which Rolo responded to by making an even uglier face.

 

Smoke was clouding his nostrils, which caused him to stop in his tracks before he could reach the parking spot. His eyes searched for the source of the cancer stick, and they landed on something even more venomous to him.

 

A poison full of multi-toned blues and disorientation; the one that made weeping and dolor as common as the greens of the planet. 

 

That burgundy scarf was blowing wildly in the strong wind, hiding the face that Lance didn’t want to see for a while.

 

“You alright?” Rolo dropped his contorted expression in panic, reaching up to check on Lance’s temperature.

 

“Yeah, I just really hate that.”

 

“The smell of smoke? Boy, me too.” Shay’s arm linked around his neck, ruffling up the sweaty strands of hair that were practically glued to his boiling-hot forehead. “Let’s get you back to my place and put a cool rag on your forehead, your fever’s starting to come back.”

 

Allura pick-pocketed the keys from his sleeping sister, and took ownership of the front seat, revving up the engine in a chilling manner.

 

“Let’s go home, Hide.”

 

“Did you just fucking quote _Tokyo Ghoul_? What a loser.”

 

“Say that to my face, you stoned assface.”

 

“I rather not… you’re scary when you’re mad.”

 

“That’s the whole point of being mad, my innocent son.” Allura flicked Rolo’s temple, sloppily driving them out of the jam-packed parking lot. The alternative station was playing some tacky indie-wannabe song, which Lance paid no attention to, zoning out before he knew it. He absentmindedly watched the scarfed-fellow extinguish his cigarette, and continued to stare when the boy’s pale fingers furiously rubbed at their glabella.

 

“Oh shit, turn that up, Rolo!”

 

“Already one step ahead of you!”

 

The most horrible _Kreayshawn_ song pierced Lance’s poor eardrums, along with Allura and Rolo’s high-pitched rapping.

 

“Here, take an earbud,” Shay offered the irked boy next to her, gently bouncing her legs to the unheard beat despite Adriana’s calves being placed on her thighs. “You and I have similar tastes in music, right?” 

 

“Shay, you are such a good person, and I appreciate you.”

 

“Mhmmm,” her humming died out the second Lance secured the earbud into his left ear, the beat of “December” by _Neck Deep_ immediately resonating within him.

 

It was the most perfect, and most painful, song to him during that moment.

 

\--

 

“Shiiiiiit, man…” Rolo leaned into Shay, who was taking another hit of the shared joint to ease her anxiety. “This is the good life, I’m telling you! Graduation is soon, and all my days are full of good friends and music… how else can things improve?”

 

Allura was curling her hands into the sober-Lance’s hair, braiding back a bit of his soaking-wet bangs. “You have snot running down your nose.”

 

“I’ll clean it in a minute.”

 

Snorting, Allura reached behind her to get a tissue, and swiped it under Lance’s dripping nostrils. She shot it across the room, as if it was a basketball, and the soaked tissue miraculously landed in the empty trashcan by the kitchen. Shay’s brother was still at work, which seemed to work out for the two kids that were higher than a kite.

 

“Why did you cut yourself?” The abrupt and emotionless input was enough to make all the blood coursing through his capillaries and veins run cold. 

 

Lance froze under her hands, eyes scrolling down to the fading-slits on his wrists.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I’m not someone you can fool, Lance Ramirez. I know you’re falling apart inside, so you better not lie to me.” The braid was pushed back behind his ear and secured with one of her hair pins, scratching at the sweaty scalp of his. “Are you harming yourself because you hate Keith, or because you hate yourself?”

 

His heart beat was ringing through his ears, making all the other miscellaneous sounds around him dim out in comparison. Did he really hate Keith? Or was it himself that he loathed the most?

 

_You’re disgusting. Of course you hate yourself, what’s there to like  
anymore? You are your own worst enemy. _

“I’m just unhappy right now, that’s all,” Lance’s fingers stretched out, the scabs almost gone from when he shattered the mirror due to his anxiety attack the previous week.

 

Allura refused the joint when Shay passed it to her, still messing around with Lance’s hair. “Let’s go for a ride, why don’t we?” The keys to Adriana’s car was flung in front of Lance’s nose, dangling like a toy back-and-forth.

 

With a nervous gulp, Lance reluctantly nodded his head in agreement, the two standing up from the couch. They bid a quick goodbye before stepping out into the chilly night’s weather, Allura clicking the key’s unlock button three times before arriving to the car.

 

Lance made sure to buckle himself in, knowing too well how reckless of a driver his friend can be sometimes.

 

 

But he always seems to forget how reckless her decisions are, too.

 

“Why are we here?”

 

“You’ll see, let’s go.” Allura put the car into park, pushing her curly locks back in the process. “There’s someone you should speak to, I think it’ll be good.”

 

\--

 

Juvie may have been the most eerie place Lance has ever visited, and he’s had his fair share of visiting haunted places back with Pidge and Hunk in Colorado.

 

The sounds of people yelling and crying was making him get on edge, being extra cautious while walking down to where the security guard was guiding them. Allura was waiting outside by the check-in area, leaving Lance on his own to meet up with Nyma for the first time since the murder of her mother.

 

Nyma’s blonde hair was all frizzy and unkempt, but her overly-friendly and nurturing behavior still made him feel welcome in a place where people are imprisoned and treated almost like rabid animals.

 

“Lance… you look so ill,” Her hand was pressed against the bulletproof glass, a crestfallen look clinging to each of her facial features. “Come, take a seat, I’m glad you came to visit! It gets really lonely in here.”

 

With a nod of acknowledgement, Lance plopped himself down onto the rusting-seat provided, the security guard paying close attention to his every move. Swallowing down his uneasiness, he leaned forward to the glass, propping his head up on his two palms.

 

“Hey, Nyma. I’ve missed you. I guess juvie’s not doing you well, either, eh?”

 

“Like it does anyone good.”

 

“True that,” a random inmate stated with a country accent, who was full of gang-related tattoos.

 

“Oh my God, stop, Trixy.” Nyma awkwardly waved the stranger off, tension obvious throughout her false visage. “Anyways, what’s up with you and all the bruises? You look more colorful than Trixy’s ink.”

 

_“I heard that.”_

 

“Good!”

 

Rolling his eyes, Lance was debating on whether it was safe or not to tell Nyma the truth, since they were currently under intense supervision from the insanely-tall and bulky security guards only a few steps behind them. However, since he related to Nyma more than anyone else he knew, he felt comfortable with coming clean to her about what’s happened.

 

He decided to whisper rather than speak loud.

 

“I’ve been beaten up by my grandfather for being bi, I was hospitalized, and I cut myself because I’m gradually becoming mentally unstable and I have no fucking clue what to do anymore, Nyma. I feel like I’m always torn between having a good and terrible time… it’s kind of like cloud nine, and then being dragged back down to hell. It sucks, because I’m always too scared to tell others about my feelings. I hate… when people worry about me. I hate being sympathized over… but something’s up, and I can’t pinpoint exactly what’s been making me feel this way.”

 

“Oh Lance, I would hug you right now if I could,” Nyma rested her forehead on the glass, an understanding twinkle in her eyes. “I think I might know what’s wrong, but you gotta promise me that you’ll do something to help yourself. If you can’t rely on others, you gotta rely on yourself to get shit done.”

 

“I’ll try my best-“

 

“Try harder, until you feel like you’ve done physically everything you could have done to help yourself. You need to put yourself first before others, because you’re with yourself only, before and after death. You hear me?”

 

Lance timidly nodded, fingers fidgeting underneath the poorly-painted, small countertop. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

 

“Why would I be mad at you? Shit happens. It’s what you do afterwards that matters, Lance. I mean, look at me,” she dramatically leaned back in her chair, a massive grin appearing between her parted lips. “I’m dealing with my choice of having killed my mom, and everyday I’m working harder to improve myself in order to _forgive_ myself, and myself _only_. That’s the outlook on life that you need to work on obtaining, because things will only get worse if you leave your issues to ‘solve themselves.’ It’s not like school, where your grades get refreshed each quarter… your problems will linger until you do something about it.”

 

His two front teeth grazed softly at his dry lip, contemplating an answer to the hardcore truth he’s been running away from for years.

 

“I’ll do it.”

 

“There’s the right answer, my boy,” Nyma poked her index finger onto the glass, and dragged it along to make a check-mark smudge visible enough for him to notice. “Now, about you… I think you should seriously look into finding a psychiatrist.”

 

“I’m _sad_ , not **_crazy_** , Nyma-“

 

“No, no no no, hear me out before you leave this place, Lance. Because this may be the last chance I’ll be able to speak with you.” Her fingernails scraped at the chipping-wooden countertop on her side of the glass, still wearing the forbearing expression from before.

 

“You should seek out a psychiatrist, and I’m not going to lie to you about that. It’s not only because of your actions, but it’s also because of your environment, stress, anxiety, and the depression building up inside of you. I see myself in you, and if I could have done anything about my money situation, I would have gotten myself a psychiatrist...” There was a short pause in her babbling, clearly stricken by pain while she was brooding of the right response to something so personal and serious.

 

Lance already guessed what she would have said before her mouth opened again, and he relished in every moment that remained before she finally voiced the undeniably possible words, because he didn’t want to think it was something that could happen to him. He didn’t want to come to terms with being something Nyma always struggled with; he didn’t want to be burdened with another truth bomb being detonated against him.

 

 

“Personally, I believe you might be bipolar, Lance.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tabitha is dead™ 
> 
> DEADASS this cliffhanger is the best one yet don't test me (my longest YEAH BOI ever) 
> 
> also can i just say that i love lance's character in this so much, he seems so much like me but is also the complete opposite of me? tfw you're both a foil and a parallel for your own OC :/ sorry you got all my bad qualities m8 ily tho
> 
> once again, everything happens for a reason.
> 
> ENOUGH OF ME AND MY MEME TALKING, HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED, MAYBE DURING CHRISTMAS BREAK I'LL WRITE AN EVEN LONGER CHAP


	7. SEVEN: My Body Is A Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yes, this may be short, but i promised myself that i'd get it out before 2017 strikes over here (New York) and i sure aS HELL AM POSTING IT RN BC I GOT A PARTY TO GO TO IN FIFTEEN MINUTES KMS?????? SHORT, BUT IMPORTANT. HOPEFULLY NOT TOO MANY MISTAKES AND I TRIED NOT TO MAKE IT RUSHED BUT IDK. LETS GO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: anxiety/mental breakdown, fighting (oooo zoo wee mama! is it my story without any fights?), mentions of blood & vomit, depersonalization, underaged drinking
> 
> ALSO THREE CHEERS FOR RELEASING ROLO'S REAL NAME? i mean yeah it's not canon but obviously rolo and roland works like a piece of cake. i'm the einstein of plots (my ego has doubled)

_“Personally, I believe you might be **bipolar** , Lance.”_

 

Jolts flew down Lance’s spine, waking him up instantly. Sweat was dampening his baggy shirt, and felt gross against his shivering skin.

 

“Shit, again…” His tremulous voice croaked out as his fists rubbed against the forming crust over his eyelids. The clock read ten-thirty on the dot, the ticking being overshadowed by the sounds of vacuums and the weather channel blasting from the living room.

 

Lance decided to glare up at the roof for as long as he possibly could, before the ever-growing headache finally hit him from not having caffeine in the past twenty-four hours. Adriana left behind a calendar for the new year that had different photos of cats each day, and the cover page for it was distracting him from his nonstop brooding.

 

It was New Year’s Eve, and he was all alone with family members he couldn’t stand. A part of him wishes Adriana never left to go back to Washington after Thanksgiving, but the other half of his conscience understood that it’s a necessary evil in order for her to become successful.

 

Mumbling, he rolled over to face the window, propping up his numb-right arm underneath the caseless pillow. The new curtains he received for Christmas were shielding the broken patches of glass from his vision, along with the dreadful house that happened to be only a few feet away from his own. With each gust of wind, his pulse managed to go back down to a normal beat.

 

Both of his legs draped over the bare mattress, pushing the blanket down to the carpet as Lance stood up and cracked his lower-back. Before heading out to the kitchen, he made sure to grab his phone for a distraction from his grandparents, of who he avoided for the past six days. All the notifications from the previous night’s rampage on Snapchat disappeared after he swiped right to check up on Shay’s message, simultaneously reading the text and pouring a mug full of creamer and coffee.

 

“Lance, can you go get the newspaper? Your grandfather’s running a fever.” Martha’s voice startled him from his own thoughts, to which he just replied with a curt nod, trudging outside with his phone in one hand and his mug in the other. A couple with country accents were fighting across the street, distracting Lance from taking the paper out of the lopsided mailbox.

 

After sandwiching his phone between his chin and neck, he clumsily dug out the newspaper and envelopes from the mailbox, shoving the box shut with his elbow. Half of his attention was invested in the explicit argument happening only a few feet away, the other half progressively getting puzzled by the envelope with his name on it.

 

“This cursive sucks,” The mumble was clouded by the heavy wind, along with the satisfying sound of ripping paper. An address was written on the sheet of cardstock inside, with a small, sloppy balloon in the corner of the page. He recalled the sequence of numbers from the message he received from Shay, and connected the dots after staring at the sheet for a full minute.

 

Lance Ramirez was _formally_ invited to a party for the first time in his life.

 

\--

 

“Lance! You’re here!”

 

Shay high-fived the boy she considered to be her best friend, a wide beam digging into her puffy cheeks.

 

“I made it, hope this doesn’t look too tacky?”

 

“You look like an internet model, which is a compliment. Come on in, Rolo’s getting lit already without us.”

 

“Of course he is…” Rolling his eyes, Lance trailed a couple of steps behind his friend, taking in the scenery of the frat party. It was overwhelmingly different compared to Rolo’s riot-like one a few months prior, having proper kegs and students packed in like sardines. There seemed to be an influx of college students piling in after they entered, hugging the seniors and juniors that were closest to the door.

 

Unlike Rolo’s tastes in music, there was nonstop chillwave and soft-electronic songs vibrating throughout the entire mansion, practically giving the impression of a hefty earthquake. Fruity cocktails and empty bottles were lining up on the countertop once the two passed through the kitchen, a bunch of middle-school looking kids downing multiple shots of mixed drinks.

 

Familiar streaks of chintzy-white bleached hair flew into his vision once Rolo jumped into Shay’s arms, red flushing over the usually-pale face. “You guys, you guys, these newbies know nothin’ about how lifechanging Fireball is! I hate freshmen, with all these sweet drinks that taste like some artisan smoothie – where’s the real drinks at?! Eh?!”

 

“Seems like you already got drunk on those ‘artisan smoothies,’ idiot.”

 

“Shhhhhh,” Rolo defensively stuck out his tongue in response to Lance’s comment, using his index to poke the branch of Lance’s nose. “I came to get wasted, not to get harassed. Let’s go get wrecked.”

 

Shay scoffed at his drunken slurs, but nonetheless followed up on his plan, leading the three of them into the kitchen once again.

 

“Lance, you want something?”

 

“Nah, I don’t think I’m ever drinking again. That hangover still haunts me.”

 

A random senior, who Lance presumed was the person throwing the party, let out a boisterous laugh while pointing to a box of water bottles in the corner. “Get something, my dude, or it’s just a night wasted. It’s New Years, no need to hold back!”

 

The gruff tone of the guy’s voice was barely audible over the _Ratatat_ song, and the giggly-yells of a band of girls from across the room. Lance quickly gave the stranger a bob of the head, before disappearing into the dining room to get away from the crowded kitchen.

 

No matter how parched he was, there was nothing more agitating than staying in a place full of loud people. Especially the mob-like and intoxicated ones cramming around Shay and Rolo.

 

All around the expensive house were underage kids who were completely drunk, stumbling over others and puking in any empty crevices they could find. Repulsion and shock coursed through Lance, as he navigated his way to the spiral staircase on the other side of the first floor, and quickly trekked up the seventeen-steps.

 

 _‘Was this how I acted_?’ Continuously replayed in his mind with each step he took, eyes centering in on the stoned and inebriated clusters of kids he passed by. Dodging the puddles of puke and spilt-liquor forced him to realize how little he remembered of his first – and only – drunken escapade, discomfort settling inside of his conscience. This night was a begrudgingly-shocking wakeup call for Lance, in the worst possible ways.

 

The third floor was the only one not overcrowded, and it appeared to Lance that it was a token of luck used in his favor; he really needed a moment to sit down and relax. Not only was he alone, but he was alone in a house he doesn’t know, owned by a stranger, on an unknown street. Taking one last sigh, he peeked into a room that was dimly lit, and decided to go in, since he did not see anyone inside.

 

Plopping himself down onto the chilly wooden floor, his left hand raked through his fluffed-up hair, heaving from relief. “Why did I even come?”

 

“Welcome to the club.”

 

“The _hell_?!” Lance instantly scooted away from the mattress, heart beat raising to an extensive number. A forehead sneakily rose from behind the bed, watching Lance from a distance. “Keith?”

 

“We gotta stop meeting like this.” Keith’s knees cracked when he stood up, slowly pacing up to where Lance was. “How… how have you been?” Brushing back a few strands of hair, his legs supported all his weight once he squatted down, eyes nearly leveled with his neighbor’s. “It’s been a whole month since we last talked, how’s your back doing?”

 

“ _Just dandy_. Thanks for asking. I should leave.” His snort left an obviously-sarcastic tone to his words, anguish bubbling up in the bottom of his stomach. Luck clearly was not on his side, since he swore to never bother with Keith again.

 

No matter how empty it made him feel, he rather be devoid of emotions than heartbroken.

 

“Wait,” Keith’s hands clutched the bruised, tremulous wrists in front of him, seizing any movement from the boy only a couple of inches away. “I don’t want to leave this on a bad note. Let’s talk this through and be mature about it, please. Neither of us should have to feel pained by the mistakes we’ve made if they’re repairable.”

 

Lance’s nervous gulp didn’t go unnoticed by Keith, who repositioned himself on the floor to unease the tension building in his shoulders. “I’m really, truly sorry for confusing you. I know I’m impulsive and rash, but you’ve been around at some of my worst moments. I’m not always agitated and secretive, nor constantly trying to do something illegal and harmful to others. My flaws are just another part of what makes me… well, me. You know?”

 

A hesitant exhale followed the out-of-place pause, anticipation and adrenaline running through all their nerves and veins.

 

“I get it, I really do, but it’s just – I don’t forgive easily. I hope it wasn’t your intention to confuse me, because it really fucks me up. And no matter what you did, I still couldn’t stop all the feelings I had for you.”

 

“When did you start liking me?”

 

“So blunt…” The two of them snickered at the insensitive remark, bodies unknowingly getting closer with each second spent on awkward laughter. “I really don’t know, probably when we met on the bus? How embarrassing-“

 

“It’s not embarrassing, not at all,” Keith frowned, resting his forehead on Lance’s colder one. Their eyes aligned after the sudden gesture, pupils dilating and reflecting the other’s visage. “I don’t know if what I feel is anything significant, but I do think you’re _attractive_. Can’t deny that, since you’re always on my mind.”

 

The rough patches on Keith’s thumbs were rolling into the palms of Lance’s hands, warming up the fragmented heart inside the boy whose done nothing but suffer for months.

 

“Shit, what can I do? You’ve dug your way into my mind.”

 

A rugged breath puffed into Lance’s face, heating up the chilly spots of his cheeks and lips. All the rationality he possessed dissolved within him, discarding any ideas or decisions that could help him not get hurt again; carelessness was taking over, as he unlocked his hands from Keith’s and cupped the boy’s own face with them.

 

“I really fucking hate you, Keith Kogane,” The tip of his nose crashed into the hollow cheek in front of him, lips pressing against the plump, smooth ones that opened to reply. Bolts of electricity charged down on the sensitive skin, frenzied and fiery against each chapped crevice. Lance bit down on the delicate bottom lip of his crush, a taste similar to iron flushing out from it and onto his tongue.

 

Shivers generated from his shoulders from the wave of sorrow crashing down and engulfing him, parting away from the boy he desperately yearned for, and wanted to hide from.

 

“I hate that I like you. So please… don’t toy with me like this.” His right hand shot up to the door handle, shakily opening the entrance to the dark bedroom. “Once you figure yourself out, and what your _real_ feelings are, contact me.” Giving the spooked neighbor one last glance, Lance rested his head on the door-frame, a pained smile growing on his burning lips. “But for now, go fuck yourself, Keith.”

 

Clicking the door shut, Lance plodded down the hallway, avoiding any reflective surface across the walls. “What am I _doing_?” Running his hands over his face, he continued down the hall until he arrived at the staircase, taking the steps all the way down to the first floor once again. A drugged-out girl bumped into him, biding a half-assed apology before slumping off to the bathroom.

 

Rolo’s babbling was a friendly reminder to how he was supposed to be entertained, not wallowing in misery, tonight. The new year was something shiny and promising; a beacon of hope in a place where negativity and agony thrives.

 

Tapping the shoulder of the random bypasser, Lance suddenly was aware of what holiday it was, still not fully grasping the situation he was just in.  “Um, excuse me, what time is it?”

 

“You stupid? It’s midnight.” The short boy flicked his temple in a mocking fashion, scoffing at the oblivious airhead. “What, got yourself a new year’s kiss? Whoopty **fucking** doo, asshole.” Guzzling down the rest of the cheap can of beer, the short-fellow traipsed right past the figurative-statue of a man, paying no attention to the splatters of vomit he barely missed on the floor.

 

“ _Fuck_.”

 

A series of panicked thoughts sailed throughout his mind, body falling back onto the wall covered in expensive art and family photos.

 

“Fuck, fuck, no… no, I left that behind. Am I really an idiot? Am I stupid?” Frantically mumbling to himself, half-sober attenders were giving him disturbed stares, gossiping about the boy freaking out at the first party of the new year.

 

Spasms traveled down each inch of Lance’s body, almost making him feel detached from humanity, and himself. Confusion was ransacking everything within his brain, the remaining bits of rationality blazing down to crisps and the rest fading out to static. With burning eyes, the remaining parts of consciousness he had centered in on how everyone attending the party was ecstatic.

 

How they could live with their problems, no matter how large or minuscule they were, and still have fun? How they were able to talk with new people, despite how awkward it is to befriend strangers? How they could bounce between being friends and enemies, and still maintain such a sturdy mentality?

 

The world was condensing in on Lance, who was withering along with it.

 

If this wasn’t going to be the lively high, this was most definitely going to be the harrowing low. Balling and freeing his fists, Lance was able to put off the recurring mental breakdown once again, bottling it up with all the pent-up aggression and sorrow he’s been hiding for as long as he could remember. Taking slow inhales allowed the compelling trepidation to ooze out into nothingness, a semi-calm atmosphere developing around him once again.

 

After blinking a few times, he began to move around the living room again, searching for his friends in a mass of unknown faces and voices. However, the only familiar face his gaze landed on, was one he was trying to escape from.

 

“Lance!” The voice he dreaded the most rung throughout his eardrums, gradually getting closer to the spot where he was standing. “Lance, what the hell is your problem? I thought we were going to hash this out!”

 

Backing up a couple of steps, Lance lifted his trembling fingers to his frigid temple, breath beginning to come out unsteady and loud. “Please, not now…” He wouldn't be able to relax his gradual unease if the person behind it was in the same room as him, especially when it was about a topic that could make-or-break his splintered heart.

 

“Lance? Hey, man, where you been?!” Rolo’s liquor-drenched arm wrapped around the shivering neck of his, rocking the two of them side-to-side. “Let’s go, everyone’s waiting-“

 

Keith and Rolo eyed each other down, tension rising to the surface and bursting through the boundary.

 

“We have to talk, let go.” Keith pried Rolo’s sweaty forearm off his neighbor, and locked his own arm with Lance’s quivering one. “It’ll only take a little while. Can you wait? Or is that going to be a problem, Roland?”

 

“Don’t call me that.” Shay rushed over to the three boys, a red cup in one hand and the other clenching up. Rolo’s index finger shoved into the space between Keith’s eyebrows, tilting his head back slightly. “He didn’t come here for _you_ , he came with us to have a good time. You’re not someone who can just barge back into someone’s life after all the shit and trouble you’ve caused them. Get out of here, or we’ll do it for you.”

 

A trenchant sneer made Lance come back down to his reality, irritation settling in at the banks of his core. The sound he abhorred _the most_ , coming from the person who he was starting to detest _the most,_ was enough to put him over the edge.

 

“Try to stop me, and you’ll end up just like your sister.”

 

Rolo gasped in sync with Lance’s fist colliding into Keith’s nose, sending him down onto the floor. The blood coating on his knuckle wasn’t his own for once, and the feeling of punching someone initiated millions of jolts to his brain, adrenaline swimming throughout his bloodstream.

 

He bent down and landed three more shots, straddling the boy he’s been pining after for months; however, for a reason completely different from what he initially hoped for.

 

“Lance!”

 

“You’re the _worst_ ,” Another hit to the face landed, before Shay tore him off from Keith’s body. Cackles erupted from his throat, gruff and vociferous against the music playing. The powerful surge of liveliness and dominance was new to him, and it was hooking him in more than any drug could. Flows of crimson gushed out from both sides of Keith’s face, overwhelmingly more distracting than the darkening pupils glistening in the dim room.

 

Rolo’s balled fist covered his agape mouth, eyebrows shooting up from shock. He watched Shay struggle against Lance’s violent attempts to free himself from her arms, feeling extremely unsettled from his friend’s sudden-brash behavior. Lance bared his canines with each huff he took, glaring down at the boy he wanted to simultaneously beat and comfort.

 

 _“… it’s_ kind of like cloud nine, and then  
 being dragged back down to hell…”  
“I’m **sad** , not **crazy** , Nyma-“  
“Personally, I believe you might be **bipolar** , _Lance.”_  


 

“Are you **_crazy_**?”

 

Jolts and shudders occurred across his entire frame, replaying the three words _over_ and _over_ again in his mind. Keith swiped off a few clots of blood from his face while standing up from the linoleum floor, inhales and exhales visibly rigid throughout his tense chest.

 

“You know what? I thought you were someone I could grow to like, but you’re just another **psycho** I’ve affiliated myself with. Go _fuck_ yourself instead, because this time, _you’re_ the one in the wrong, _not_ me.” His knuckle, bathed in fresh blood, bumped into the left side of Lance’s chest, knocking him and Shay backwards into Rolo. “Oh, and _Happy New Year_ , Lance Ramirez.” The boots he wore left a skid mark on the floor, walking away from the trio.

 

“ _Houd je bek dicht_ (keep your mouth shut)!” Rolo screeched out to Keith, punting Shay’s empty cup into the back of his head. “Fuck, I can’t stand that bastard! Ugh!” Sobering up slightly, he ran his fingers through his sweaty hair, glowering until the blue-haired boy left the mansion. “I’m gonna fuckin’ deck him next time I see him- Lance?”

 

Goggling at the crusting-red splatters on his hands, Lance was concentrating on the phrases Keith spat at him as if they were tattooed in his mind. **Psycho** was the one that bruised his pride the most. Jitters dispersed around his spine from the connotation and impact of his jabs, and the last repeat of the word commenced the breakdown he’s been bottling up for years.

 

His eyes only saw static in front of him, all of his senses shutting down and giving up control to the flourishing anxiety in his system.

 

The last thing he could process was the sound of glass shattering underneath him.

 

\--

 

“Shit, shit, shit, what do we do?!”

 

“I don’t know! Stop pacing, you’re making me nervous!”

 

“I can’t help it! I _am_ nervous!”

 

Shay continued walking back and forth in Rolo’s bedroom, biting at the cuticles on each fingernail. Lance was shrieking in the bathroom across the hall, continuous bangs and slamming _gracing_ the two’s eardrums. Humming to cancel out the noise, Shay kept locking and unlocking the door to cease her anxious pacing, the clicks repeating in a soothing pattern.

 

“Should we check on him? Do you think it’s safe?”

 

“He’s not a monster, Shay, he’s having a breakdown.”

 

“Still-“

 

“No, Shay. Sit down and let him work it out. Nyma said so herself... that sometimes it’s better if we don’t get ourselves involved.”

 

Another _crack_ came from the bathroom, startling the both of them out of their wits. Lance has broken a total of eleven items in the past thirty minutes, and with each deafening fracture, the screams got even more pained and hoarse.

 

Swiping the hand soap off the moldy counter, Lance dug his nails deep into the wooden surface, teeth burrowing themselves into both of his cheeks. The sharpest ones probed at the raw, bitten areas, nibbling down until he could _feel_ the skin tearing off.

 

“Psycho, psycho, psycho, psycho, psycho, psycho.”

 

His free hand slowly slid down the smudged mirror, greasy, uneven fingerprints appearing across his reflection.

 

“Disgusting, you’re disgusting.”

 

Laughs spewed out of his scratchy throat, dragging each chortle until it was nearly impossible to breathe.

 

“Crazy bastard.” His scabbed and burgundy-dyed hand pounded on the scratched mirror, progressively becoming faster with each bash. The almost-healed gashes on his back were tender from overusing his muscles, causing him to wince between every few hits to the glass.

 

When he couldn’t channel out his anxiety with physical destruction anymore, he turned to mental degradation.

 

Whimpers eased out from his sore throat, as he unconsciously tried to avoid the tears forming from streaming down. His eyesight was moderately coming back to him, despite still being blurry and deceiving.

 

 

_“Personally, I believe you might be bipolar, Lance.”_

 

“No, no, no. No, that’s not gonna happen. I’m fine, I am.” Gawking at his reflection, he could no longer recognize the person who the mirror displayed, a new form of panic drowning his memory. Hysteria and repulsion sprouted in his stomach, forming a twisty-feeling around his abdomen. “I _am_ fine, right?”

 

A gag followed the last syllable, vomit cascading out and into the sink’s drain. Bile and skin flushed down when his wobbly hand knocked the faucet up, water rinsing away the distasteful chunks from his sight. The edge of his overwhelming emotions drifted away with the tap water, the sound of gushing liquid consoling the uptight boy hovering over the sink.

 

Knocks woke him up from the trance-like state he was in, the door creaking open to reveal his two friends. The sympathetic countenances he was faced with made him realize the extent of his condition, and just how much damage he’s done. Not only to himself, but to Rolo’s house, and to his own companions.

 

Shards of glass, ceramics, and porcelain were scattered across the bathroom, along with ripped-up toilet paper and splatters of soap and shampoo.

 

“Oh… oh my God…” Beyond each emotion he dealt with today, the guilt that stemmed off from the breakdown’s aftermath was the worst one yet. “I’m so… so sorry, this is all my fault, I’m sorry, really-“

 

“It’s fine, shit happens, man.” Rolo peeked his head over Shay’s towering shoulder, a soft, understanding contortion appearing on his lips. “I’ve lived with Nyma for my entire life, I think this is nothing more than normal for me. Let’s get you and this room cleaned up, yeah?”

 

Morosely nodding his head, Lance reluctantly allowed Shay and Rolo to guide him out of the room, guilt gnawing at and blighting his soul. Shay moved the tiny broom across the mold-infested tile, brushing all the fragments and scraps into the fallen trash bin.

 

Rolo tossed Lance a towel and rustled up the already-messy hair that he had, calming his friend down by using methods of affection and compassion. Lance’s opinion on him instantly improved after that night, especially when he had offered to help Lance out with washing his hair.

 

Money couldn’t repair all the demolition he caused, but Lance promised himself that he would pay back the kind-hearted deeds of his closest friends: step one was to mend the broken pottery, then mend himself to the best of his abilities.

 

\--

 

Forceful shakes were the first things Lance woke up to, grogginess settling in before he peeled his stinging eyes open.

 

“Oi, wake up already. You have eye boogers.”

 

“¡Déjame dormir!”

 

The agitated sigh was barely audible to the drowsy boy, who was curling up again to get comfortable. “Didn’t want to do this… but I guess I have to.”

 

A heavy body pounced down on his back, the mattress making a disturbingly-loud _creak_. “Ah, ah, ahhhhh, get off!”

 

“Awwww, is the sleepy baby awake now?”

 

Lance froze, squinting his eyes in order to process what was happening. “Who’s there?”

 

The blurry person cleared out their throat, and deepened their voice by a couple of octaves. “Enrique Iglesias. _Levántate de la cama_ ~”

 

Scurrying up from the rock-hard bed of Rolo’s, Lance tripped over his own pair of shoes, clumsily trying to balance his weight out to avoid falling over. When he finally managed to stop stumbling, he turned his head back over to the messy bed, staring at Allura’s pouty lips.

 

“Since when do you know Spanish?”

 

“Since it’s become a graduation requirement in Florida, now let’s go get something to eat. It’s our New Year’s tradition.”  


Letting out a hearable groan, Lance slumped out of the bedroom, having a need to check for himself if everyone else was going. The faith he had in Allura’s decisions changed for the worst after he learned how insanely reckless and impulsive she could be. In fact, he deemed it admirable, yet terrifying.

 

Sure enough, Shay and Rolo were lounging out on the couch, waiting for him to come down the stairs. It was only seven in the morning, and the new year was not going to give him a break from the previous one’s nonsense. Allura stomped down the steps in a hurry, clicking the car-keys’ unlock button seven times in the process.

 

“Get in the car now, or nobody’s getting food!”

 

Shay shot straight up from the couch and dashed out of the house, followed by an equally-excited Rolo. Lance was the last one to make it outside, and the mood was immediately negative the second his foot touched the concrete. His friends were all hovering over the third step, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. Someone was sitting on the last one, scraping their pale fingers on the crumbling driveway.

 

A few strands of blue hair became visible between Shay and Rolo’s legs, flapping along with the chilly breeze that January always brings. 

 

“Keith?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RUSHRUSHRUSH will prob update this tomorrow (1/1/17 oh geez) and fix any errors but for now i hoped it wasnt bad 
> 
> **** 1/1/17: i did make updates lmao sorry if this was TRASH BEFORE like me. it's all cleared up now. or so i hope.


	8. EIGHT: There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PART TWO OF THE NOVEL BEGINS YEAH BOIIIIIIIII idk how long its gonna be bc i have the main plot ideas all set up and everything bUT IT'S A NEW QUARTER FAM LET'S GET THIS SHIP SAILING
> 
> ** trigger warnings: mentions of- blood, self-harm, & underaged drinking; mild awkwardness 
> 
> yea its not an eventful chapter but its not always gonna be dramatic like a soap opera. even though i could make it like a telenovela, but i wont (but i should ((but i wont)) ) 
> 
> have you all noticed how i make lance just like me idk he has this habit of speaking in frenzied spanish when nervous and im like biTCH ME TOO, TF. gotta stop making them like me no wonder people get sad about them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN WHICH THE SAIL BEGINS, 2008 memories, the obligatory motorcycle scene i mean come on is it a klance teen fic without the dramatic stereotypical moment, quality humor and drunken brotherly bonding in the bathroom, cute af scene, who tf is elliot and why does he keep coming up (who knows? i do, but imma let that be)? 
> 
> also shay is a great character. enjoy this slice of semi-happiness you angst sufferers
> 
> ALSO also if you wanna see the spot where the 2nd scene takes place here you go (https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/cf/Southbound_Withlacoochee_State_Trail-FL_44_Bridge.JPG)

“Keith?”

 

The head full of multitoned blues slowly rose higher, Keith standing up from the concrete stair. Tension was exuding out from everyone, especially Rolo, who clenched his fists with a burning passion while eyeing down the person he once considered his best friend.

 

Lance was frozen by the unhinged door, eyebrows twitching at the sight of his neighbor. He was exhausted – physically _and_ emotionally – and the last thing he needed was to be graced with Keith’s presence this morning. Unwillingly, his gaze was locked on the same person, who kept stealing glances at the shocked boy five steps above.

 

“You need to leave, now,” Rolo jammed his shaking fist into Keith’s shoulder lightly, teeth biting down on his lower lip. “We’re starting off the new year with good people, and honestly, you aren’t one of those in my book. You can fuck me over, but if you fuck with Lance… I’ll make sure you’ll be the one in pain instead.”

 

Lifting his hands in defeat, Keith straightened out his back confidently, exhaling a pent-up sigh in the process. “Listen, I didn’t come here to fight with you: or anyone, really. I need to talk with Lance, we never finished our discussion last night.”

 

“He clearly doesn’t want to see you. Can you catch a hint?”

 

“Rolo, that’s enough,” Allura stepped in, nudging the irritated boy backwards. With crossed arms, she focused her deathly stare directly on Keith’s tattoos. “Ultimately, it’s up to Lance to decide if he wants to talk with you. However, if you cross the boundary one more time, we’ll step in.” The corners of her smirk dived into her cheeks, the dubious expression sending chills down Rolo’s spine. “However, it’s going to have to wait, anyways. We’re going out for breakfast, and it’s a ‘friends only’ event. Can you hold off for, say about, two hours? That is, if he accepts?”

 

Nodding his head, Keith let both arms fall back down to his thighs, avoiding the intimidating glares Allura and Shay sent him. Instead, he watched Lance from afar, trying to read the puzzled contortion on his face. The only thing that swarmed through his conscious mind was the word ‘trouble.’ All the senses in his body were warning him to avoid Keith; to not fall victim to his unknown motives. To not break himself down even more from how convincing and treacherous he was.

 

However, something deep down was screaming at him to hear him out, even if it was the last time. Even though there was nothing positive that ever resulted from interacting with Keith, the slightest bit of hope remained in his fragile, fracturing heart – maybe, just _maybe_ , there would be a reason behind the madness.

 

Taking an unsteady breath, Lance’s two index fingers fiddled around with each other, pondering about what to say before his mouth opened again. “I-I’ll do it… later…” Swallowing twice to digest the words he stated, Lance gradually stepped closer to the group of friends, head peeking over Rolo’s shoulder from behind. “So wait for me.”

 

Shay linked her arm through Lance’s quaking one, walking him down the steps. The other two followed along, but not without sending Keith ugly-yet-scary faces, Shay joining in by sticking out her tongue at the unfazed fellow. One weight seemed to dissolve during the conversation, but was immediately replaced with a burden of anticipation and anxiety. He’d have to face his fear one more time, and the most horrifying part of confronting Keith was the fact that he was unpredictable. His past was an enigma, his actions were impulsive, and his moods were ridiculously fickle.

 

Lance was not the type of person who was inclined to enjoy surprises.

 

Buckling himself into Allura’s car, Rolo plopped himself right next to him, a smug look clinging on his facial features.

 

“I made a playlist for the ride to Ocala.”

 

“Oh my God, no, no no no, you did not – right? Please, I can’t deal with any more tacky rap music.” Lance spurted out, already feeling the incoming headache pounding at his skull. Rolo’s eyebrows danced vigorously while he plugged his phone into the aux cord, scrolling through his iTunes to reach the prepared playlist that derived from hell.

 

 _The_ _Veronicas_ ruptured out from the expensive sound system, shredding the eardrums of everyone in the car. Shay’s palm slapped her face the second “Untouched” played, instantly catching onto the reason why it was the first song.

 

“I can’t believe you made a playlist about Lance’s pining,” Shay reached behind the passenger’s seat and bonked Rolo in the head a few times, gritting her teeth to contain her laughter and annoyance.

 

Never in his life did he truly believe he’d relate to an emo, angsty teen song from 2008, but here he was, holding back sobs during the chorus.

 

\--

The engine came to an abrupt stop, the car’s exhaust blowing clearly in the frigid January air. Allura reached behind the seat to make eye contact with Lance, who was visibly nervous.

 

“You sure you’ll be alright?”

 

The Withlacoochee bridge was a few feet away, someone waiting underneath the overpass and lighting up a Marlboro. Lance gulped down some of his anxiety, focusing on his concerned friends instead of the inevitable confrontation coming. “Yeah, I mean, we’re already here. Thank you for dropping me off.” Unbuckling the seatbelt, his free hand opened the car’s door, knees cracking when his legs straightened out. “See you later!”

 

The three waved their friend goodbye, the engine starting up once again. Rolling his shoulders to untense them, Lance began his stride over to the shady area, avoiding all the shivers flying down his two arms. Keith was taking another drag on the crumbling cigarette, head leaning back onto the moldy, cracking bricks.

 

“Hey.”

 

Keith’s head swerved to his left, frightened by the sudden presence. “Hey… sit, sit.” Lance timidly nodded, seating himself down a few inches away from his neighbor. The cigarette was crushed down on the street’s concrete, tiny flames and ashes fading into the charcoal-grey pavement. “You reek of Chick Fil A.”

 

“And you smell like smoke and cancer,” Lance scoffed, crossing his arms in an irritable fashion. The two both rolled their eyes, looking over at the opposite direction from one another. On his right hand, Lance’s middle finger tapped along to the first song that came to his mind, the gravel loudly scratching whenever his fingernail scraped it.  

 

A bicyclist rode past them, the aroma of eggs and bacon still lingering in the air even though they were gone. The awkward silence was masked by the comforting smell, the simple thought of breakfast easing the uptight pair. Every few seconds, a gust of chilly wind would brush back the messy bangs that draped down their foreheads, Lance’s teeth beginning to chatter the fourth time around.

 

“W-w-what did you… you want to talk about?” His tremulous voice blurted, goosebumps forming on every patch of uncovered skin he had.

 

“Us.”

 

“ _Us_?” Another obnoxious snort erupted from Lance, sharp eyes glaring down the boy right next to him. “You said so yourself, that it’s got nothing to do with me. Aren’t you too busy with Elliot?”

 

The pettiness of his comment cut Keith deep, a weak gasp coming from the surprised fellow. His head dipped even lower, each finger on both hands grasping onto his sweater’s cuffs. Lance’s lips were pursed in thought, reflecting back on what he prattled out in malice.

 

 “Yeah, I have a complicated relationship with him. I’m working on it, really. And that’s what I’m trying to do with you, too. We need to clear this up, once and for all.” Shuffling himself to face Lance, Keith curled his legs up to his chest, wrapping both arms underneath his thighs. “Something about you gets underneath my skin, every single time I see you. I can’t describe it; it’s infuriating and exciting at the same time. You know? And, I just… I don’t want to talk about me, I want to hear your perspective out this time. Not in a raged fury like before.”

 

Blinking a couple times in disbelief, Lance repositioned himself to watch Keith this time, a few snickers spewing out of him. “You – you want to hear my feelings? You sure it isn’t to ease your guilty conscience for fucking me over?” Keith’s head bobbed up and down in response, a slight, closed smile appearing in the midst of it. A pent-up sigh eased out of Lance’s throat, preparing a reasonable and coherent response instead of his initial frenzied one from last month.

 

“Sure, okay. I found myself attracted to you since the second I officially met you in the school’s backyard. I remember how interesting you were to me, and that built up until the time I literally sat on you that day on the bus. Beauty and brains are my weaknesses, and you sucked me in like some Kirby humanoid –“

 

“Kirby humanoid?”

 

“Let me finish,” He held out his hand, Keith stifling his chuckles to allow him to continue. “The more I got to know you, the more my crush grew…. It was like some weird plague of the heart, if I had to be honest. Anyways, yeah… that time I kissed you in your house? Not an accident. All those times we flirted? Not for shits and kicks. I really like you, and at the same time, you’ve managed to break me down time after time, and there’s some animosity tied in with that crushing feeling. That’s pretty much it. Not very interesting,” a shy chortle followed the last comment, along with his eyes trailing down to the road.

 

An icy hand knotted its way between his own, the pads of each finger brushing over the healing, scabbed knuckle. There was a cheesy, widespread beam on display in front of Lance, a fraction of the upper lip creasing in. Butterflies penetrated through his stomach, radiating warmth and affection all throughout his body. He was at a loss for words, and could hear the palpitating heart of his clearly in the strong breeze.

 

“I’m not someone quick to realize my own feelings, but I’ll try this out, if you still want to.” Keith’s thumb massaged circles in the stiff space between Lance’s fingers, eyes fixated on the jerking wrist full of goosebumps. There were still visible scars peeking through the position from the first time Lance self-harmed, and it took Keith a little while to register the fact.

 

Unlacing hands, he gently traveled his fingers down Lance’s skin, grazing over the scars in a slow, soft matter. His eyes flicked up to see Lance shiver from the contact, specks of red dispersing across the tip of his nose, earlobes, and cheeks. The blushing boy’s attention was focused on the lips in front of him, pupils dilating and compressing the colorful irises. 

 

“Cute,” The corners of his mouth slyly lifted, cocking one eyebrow up in mischief. Hypnosis was settling in to Keith’s mind, completely focused on each move Lance made: his head began to subconsciously lean in, until his mouth hovered over Lance’s, foreheads touching and noses cold against the other.

 

Eyelashes touched his cheek every time he blinked, Keith noticing how straight and long they were. A hitch grew in his breath as he absorbed the situation, whistling the freezing air out of his lungs.

 

“I… I guess we can try it out.”

 

Lance circled his arms around Keith’s back, diving his head below into the crook of his neck. Smoke was embedded in the cotton sweatshirt, infused with a twinge of cinnamon. He remembered the same scent from the blanket he stole, before it was drenched in blood and washed by Adriana.

 

His teeth involuntarily opened up his mouth, smiling into the fabric his face was buried in. “I’m so happy right now, holy shit… are you sure about this?”

 

Keith played with the curls at the bottoms of Lance’s hair, a tender expression plastered on his features. “Of course I am.” A group of cars were heard in the distance, the two of them breaking free of contact. “We should probably move.”

 

Lance quickly nodded, dragging Keith up with him. “Can you bring me home? I… kind of don’t have a ride back,” His thumb pointed in the direction he came from, the expensive car nowhere to be seen. “I was planning on running back, but it’s so cold out-“

 

“Shhh, it’s no problem. Follow me,” Keith voiced, a humorous tone coating each word. He lead Lance along the side of the road to a parked motorcycle, which created a million questions in Lance’s mind. “Hop on-“

 

“When the hell did you get a bike?”

 

“I borrowed one from Shiro’s while my car’s getting fixed. Maybe I should keep it…” Tossing him the single helmet, Keith situated himself on the leather seat, kicking off the stand from the street. He gazed back at Lance when there was no movement coming from him, the helmet still in his grasp. “You coming or what?”

 

“A-ah, yeah! Hold on!”

 

Fiddling with the helmet’s buckle, Lance stretched his right leg over the bike, sitting behind Keith instantly. The engine revved up only seconds after Lance got comfortable, his arms flying back to the fender and gripping on tight. His teeth gritted tightly, the bike cruising down the street at a velocity Lance couldn’t comprehend.

 

The feeling of the wind soaring past and tickling the nape of his neck, the adrenaline gushing throughout him, the chattering transforming into chuckling. Everything felt like a dream to him, one that he never could imagine reaching one day. The bizarre experience was unsettling in the way how it gave him the same rush as Keith did, in a completely opposite sense.

 

He buckled himself into a rollercoaster ride that he wouldn’t be able to escape anytime soon.

 

“I can’t believe this!”

 

“You better, because it’s happening. This is the now, Lance Ramirez!”

 

Keith’s grasp toughened on the bike’s handles, leaning forward enough to be hovering over the leather seat. The two were slowly absorbing the preposterous scene, taking in mental notes of every single relevant, and irrelevant, thing in the setting around them. With his arms raising high into the air, Lance’s smile was the widest it’s been since he could remember. When was the last time he felt this _free_ , this _happy_?

 

The traffic zoomed past them, drivers glaring at them with shocked and perturbed expressions. Nothing mattered more than this moment to them, though, not even time itself.

 

\--

 

Loud scrapes of gravel was never a pleasant sound, especially the second Keith placed the bike’s stand down once they got to his driveway. Lance’s hair was severely bedraggled after he reluctantly handed back the helmet, Keith sucking his bottom lip into his mouth to hold back on his oncoming explosive laughter.

 

His thigh leaned against the motorcycle, his forefinger cheekily curling back the strand of hair askew on Lance’s forehead. “So, you wanna come in? Maybe we can actually finish _The Craft_ this time?” The most endearing and flirtatious smirk was appearing once again, weaving and connecting millions of strands in the other boy’s flimsy heart. In a matter of seconds, the smile coated the wounds he’s acquired with a honey glaze, a sensation that truly consoled Lance and made him crave more.

 

Glancing back at the house only feet away, he was pondering about what he should respond with, until there was a hooded figure lounging out on his front porch, never moving an inch until he downed a massive gulp from the bottle of whiskey. “Uh… I’d really, _really_ fucking _love_ to, but I think we might have to raincheck,” Keith’s eyes trailed over to where Lance pointed, the cloaked creature paying no attention to the suspicious behavior at the neighboring house’s driveway.

 

“What can you do, eh?”

 

The small shrug in his shoulders made Lance’s stomach sour, guilt gnawing at his instincts.

 

“I promise, next time, okay?”

 

Waving goodbye, he hustled down to his front door, gazing back a few times to make sure that Keith wasn’t going to wait up for him to come back. His grandfather’s car was nowhere to be seen or heard, and that made the encounter even more odd. The hooded silhouette didn’t seem to be too tall, most likely 167 centimeters in total – but why would someone that small, and that thin, be drinking their entire weight in whiskey at ten in the morning? Nothing was adding up in the end, and it took a lot of mental pep-talking to gain enough courage to confront the veiled figure.

 

“Um… hello? Are you at the right house?”

 

Lance was bending down to level their heights, the pollen making his nose itch from being on the ground. The bottle of Jack Daniels splashed against his thighs when it was slammed down to the concrete, fresh cuts scattered across the anonymous person.

 

“About time you showed up.” Finally lifting their head, Lance was able to make out Francisco’s face in the span of two seconds, initiating awkward eye contact with one another. “I’ve been here since eight, where is everyone?”

 

“Abuelo isn’t here- wait, that’s not the issue _here_. Why are _YOU here_?!” Francisco coughed up a worrying chortle, pushing back the hood to reveal multiple bands of scabs and bruises forming from his forehead all the way down to his clavicles. Lance’s hands rose on their own, clamping down on his brother’s cheeks and smushing them in, a distorted grunt erupting from the younger one. “Ya sé que te duele…. Dios mío, get in, we’re going to talk about this once I get your wounds cleaned up.”

 

A sloppy nod answered his frenzied speech, Francisco being hurled up by his older brother’s own blemished and scarred arms. Quickly rummaging his keys out of his pocket, Lance unlocked the front door and propped it wide open with a few kicks, making sure Francisco managed to get in fully before letting it slam shut.

 

Déjà vu was floating through his mind, being reminded of how Adriana tended to his every need when he was hospitalized. Just by recalling the brutal incident, his entire back felt freshly slashed, but he tried his best to keep his full, undivided attention on bandaging his brother.

 

However, nobody acts pleasantly when it comes to hydrogen peroxide.

 

“ _Shhhhhhtftttt_ —“

 

“ **Quiet** , it’ll hurt more if you move…. It’s better to disinfect it, who knows what you can get in this trash town…” Stretching out the five fingers as far as possible, Lance dabbed the hellish cleanser across each laceration, bubbles of white surfacing immediately. Clenching his teeth, Francisco violently bounced his leg against the toilet seat, eyelids twitching from the stinging agony.

 

Gliding off the paper layer from the bandage, Lance wrapped the first one around the base of his thumb, softening out the bumps as gently as possible. “Did papa hit you?” The overly-startled gasp was enough of an answer to him – he carefully planned what to say next while peeling the next Band-Aid’s wrapper off and sliding it into the trash bin. “I understand that it’s not something you want to come to terms with – believe me, but I’m your brother. You can trust me; I want to help you out, so please, can you tell me what happened so we can try our bests to work things out?”

 

His pupils centered in on the younger boy’s writhing expression, his free hand idly reaching for another adhesive patch. It seemed like tears were welling up in Francisco’s eyes, but he wasn’t entirely sure on if they were from his emotions, or the physical pain from the peroxide.

 

“I understand how… wrong mom and dad were, when they kicked you out,” a sniffle forced a pause in his unsteady statement, a noticeable tremble coming down his arms. “They found out that I got my girlfriend pregnant, a-and I’ve been on such a strange streak lately. I let my grades slip, and I failed Chemistry for the first time. I never fail, Lance, especially science, out of all things. And the sick part is, I don’t know what’s more of a punishment at this point… feeling my own shame and falling apart because of it, o-or the fact that papa practically disowned me.”

 

“Fran-“

 

“I feel like such an idiot, you know? I’ve always… always had expectations to make up for the ones everyone lacked. I was the “special” kid, the smartest one, and it ruined me. I can’t handle failure, I can’t handle being thought of as a nuisance. I’ve always worked so hard to please everyone, and for what?! How can I please myself, if I’m never happy when I succeed nor when I fail!? How can I manage to live with myself when I feel so… **_disgusting_**? And even though it's... it's kind of exciting, how can I support a _child_ if I can’t even care for myself?”

 

Goosebumps generated across his skin, chills and shivers following the cold words of his brother. It was harrowing to hear, and yet, he resonated with it: deep down, he knows he thinks just like that. He feels the exact emotions Fran does. He behaves just as rashly when things go wrong.

 

And if shame was a part of his nature, he never felt it settle in as strongly as it did now. The extent of his horrendous, recent actions – no matter how justified they were, made chagrin sprout in the roots of his soul.

 

“I’m so tired of this, I'm worn out of being used all the time. It’s strange, but you know what? I’m fucking glad I’m free of those abusive shits, and now I can choose my own way, and… and I can enjoy the ups and downs to my _own_ accord. I always wanted to live my own life, and now, now I have the privilege to. Isn’t that what independence is all about?” Dragging on a relieved exhale, Fran’s eyes were concentrating on a leak stain in the bathroom’s ceiling, a peculiar grimace forming. “I think I’ve always been jealous of how everyone else in the family was able to taste this kind of freedom. And, God, it feels _so damn good_ to let that off of my chest! You don’t get how much steam I just blew out! And… and once I’m done with my suffering, salvation will come, Lance. Just like Dostoevsky believed in! Oooooh, veo un brillante future, Lance! Ehh… what’s the phrase… ‘ _J'ai appris à vivre ma vie au jour le jour_.’”

 

A weak guffaw came from Lance, sticking on and smoothing out the last bandage on his brother’s knuckles. “Are you staying here?”

 

“Hell no, my girlfriend’s in tow somewhere in Ocala, waiting for me. We’re going to move in together, you know? I’m going to be a dad...” Curling his hands underneath his thighs, Fran beamed at his older brother with such a genuine sense of bliss and nervousness, rocking left and right on the toilet seat. “However, I’m not letting this go to waste. I have a full week off of school now, so I’m going to explore this place until I get tired of the southern folk. I’m going to enjoy the time I have, you know? I feel like it’ll be an experience – hell, a _chance_ wasted if I don’t take it. It’s better than feeling so devoid all the time, you feel me?”

 

“Sure, but… are you going to call mama before you come back?”

 

Fran leaped off the seat, nearly slipping from his drunken-imbalance. “Never, never! I’m done with them, who needs to stay with people who control you like that?” His index shoved its way into Lance’s face, twirling around in a circular motion, “It’s a new world for me, and I don’t care if they’re family or not, they’ve held me back for years. And not just me, but _you_ , too. Let’s go get wasteeeddddddd~”

 

“Okay, okay, you’re acting waayyyy too crazy right now…”

 

“Shhh, go talk to your _chéri_!”

 

“S- _stop_! And _stop_ speaking French, your accent is terrible!” The blush scalded his cheeks, especially when he blurted out a string of snickers with his brother.

 

Once the two were able to stop snorting, Francisco gave Lance a heartfelt hug goodbye, which made the putrid stench of whiskey entwine into his own shirt’s fabric. He was off to meet up with the unknown girlfriend of his, and even though Lance’s curiosity was killing him inside, he decided to let his brother figure out his own way for once.

 

Instead, he found himself banging on the creaky door of his neighbor’s, the remaining batch of holiday cookies in one hand and the stolen blanket in another. The myriad of blue hues made a third emergence today, a cheesy simper blooming on the taller boy’s lips.

 

“So, how about those nineties-witches, damnit?”

 

\--

 

“Keith, I keep telling you, Nancy is the best one. Don’t test me.”

“Nope, I stand by my choice of Rochelle. We can fight about this all day.”

“I’ll win.”

“Oh, really now?”

“Mhmmmm.”

“You think so?”

“Of _course_ I do.”

 

 

A devious grin was permanently plastered on their faces, Lance’s head resting against Keith’s thigh. The floor wasn’t as uncomfortable as he remembered, but everything was trivial when it came to the boy only inches away. Jolts shocked his hips when Keith’s sneaky hands began tickling both sides, a puff of oxygen unwillingly escaping his lungs from getting surprised.

 

“Dickhead!”

 

“Oh, who’s the dickhead now?!”

 

Lance propped himself up in defense, freeing himself from the devilish touch. “Come closer and I’ll deck you!”

 

“What else is new?”

 

Keith lurched forward to the source of the cackling, chasing each other around with mischievous intentions. Lance stopped before Keith could catch up, turning the opposite way and running towards him instead. A horrified scowl grew in intensity on the pale visage, spreading out both arms in an unsure manner.

 

Playfully tackling the other to the ground, Lance pinned back the two hands behind the askew-hair, thumbs pressed against both ying-yang tattoos. Keith’s eyelids lifted up, exposing the full amount of astonishment being displayed across his features. The accidental wink of his left eye was enough to make Lance gulp in embarrassment, freeing the wrists of the fellow underneath him.

 

“Why, suddenly too shy, Ramirez?” Keith snaked his arms up to Lance’s neck, dragging him back down with a hypnotizing fashion.

 

“N-n-no, of course not-“

 

There was an exaggerated roll of his eyes, raising an eyebrow in response to the bashful comment. “Right, right. Then, don’t mind me.” Parting his mouth, he yanked Lance down even closer, teeth clamping down on the semi-chapped lip until they perfectly aligned with each other. Lance was being dominated from underneath, Keith’s fingers guiding and tilting his chin whenever he pleased.

 

Voltaic charges zapped at the most sensitive spots on his lips, the phenomenon striking and flowing down the remaining areas of his body. A charming giggle came from the other party, roughening the kiss even more than before. One pair of eyes were sealed shut, the other couple concentrating on the flawless face in front of them.

 

Keith’s phone vibrated in the corner, but he never broke free from Lance, who gawked at the contact’s name.

 

Elliot Fischer.

 

\--

 

The six-letter name was plaguing his mind more than he predicted it would. Every conscious second of his day was spent on brooding about the matter, and every single possible – and implausible – reason why they would still be in contact with each other.

 

Letting out a pent-up grunt, Lance tuned out the rest of the world as he traipsed down to Shay’s house, clutching onto his backpack’s straps tighter than ever. Fidgeting wouldn’t cease his vexing, irrepressible inquires and theories, and listening to his favorite songs wouldn’t help, either.

 

When it’s not one thing bothering him, it’s another, and on top of the issue with Elliot, he has to worry about his brother’s flight after he gets home from school tomorrow.

 

 Half-way down the road, he can make out Shay and her brother outside, using frequent, visible hand gesticulations from such a far distance. It appeared like the two siblings were having a dispute on something, but Lance really needed someone he could trust to discuss the whole shit-storm with.  Picking up the pace, Lance could hear the wind brush past him as he sped up, practically jogging down to the still-decorated house in the middle of the suburban street.

 

“Shay, Shaaaaay!”

 

“Huh,” The girl dressed in pajamas pivoted towards the scream’s direction, having to squint so she could make out who it was. “Oi! Lance, Laaaaaance!”

 

“Hey, we’re not done with this-!”

 

Before Rax could finish his sentence, his overly-elated and cognizant sister was bolting towards her friend, a sense of dejection striking him enough to hesitate on chasing her down the road.

 

“Lance, what are you doing here?!” Shay carried on dashing vigorously until she reached the panting boy, shaking him to bring back enough oxygen in his lungs. “I’m so glad you’re here, I was planning on getting a ride over to your house!”

 

Bending over to catch his breath, Lance stretched out his hand in objection, “N-no nee… need…”

 

“Yeah, I kind of realized that…. What did you want to talk about, though?”

 

Shay patted his back a few times, downing an ample amount of coffee in three gulps. Lance, who took about a full minute to finally stop wheezing, straightened out his back from its slumped position, watching her finish the entire travel mug of caffeine.

 

Shaking his head to avoid the distracting spectacle, Lance took out his phone and scrolled through his photo album to find the screenshot he took of Elliot’s information from Keith’s contacts. “Do you know anything about this guy?” Her eyes nearly bulged out when the name crossed her vision, choking on her coffee. “Sorry, you okay? …. Anyways, you reacted, so I’m assuming he’s familiar. Can you tell me anything?”

 

Bobbing her head a few times as she coughed out the tickle in her throat, Shay’s expression was drenched in guilt when she reread the contact name. “Um… well, you know how Rolo feels about him and everything… I, I don’t really think it’s fair if I tell you. It’s not my business, and I hate that I found out about it.”

 

“Shay, please…”

 

“Lance, I can’t… I’m sorry, really!”

 

He couldn’t refuse her bewitching pouty face; with a sigh, he waved his hand to ward off any further discussion of the topic, still feeling a bit upset that nobody is giving him inclusive information about the stranger.

 

“Soooo, boyfriends, eh?” The eyebrow wiggle gave her motives away, and Lance was making a run for it once again that day. “Hey, wait, get back here! Don’t make me run more in my slippers… Tell me about it, everything, anything! Lance, stop running!!”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CH 9 IS ALREADY ON THE WAY I MIGHT FINISH IT I PROB WONT I NEVER KNOW! LMAO but i'm planning on it being suspenseful
> 
> will lance ever be happy? will rolo get the love and appreciation he deserves? why is adriana brought up even though she is like all the way across the country? will keith EVER come clean? will i stop being a dramatic writer? the answers.... to (maybe) be continued. honestly i'll prob forget i even wrote this chapter i did this all while i'm half exhausted and stressed about midterms/finals/SATs


	9. NINE: But Why Would You Care?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LET PART 2 BEGIN 
> 
> HELL YEAH this is my LONGEST CHAPTER EVER. NOT JUST OF THIS BOOK BUT SINCE EVER. IM V PROUD LIKE GAHDAMN 9.4K WORDS THATS CRAZY????? anyways yes v emo its the end of the backstory pidge and hunk are back and a new drama arc begins 
> 
> ALSO LEMME HEAR YOU SAY WAYOOOOOO YA GIRL JUST FINISHED MIDTERMS AND THINKS SHE'S PASSED ALL OF THEM WHATS GOOD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: mentions of sex/sexual assault (i tried to make it very limited), sex trafficking, mentions of drugs, underaged drinking 
> 
> in which i managed to make this the happiest chapter yet when it's fucking horrendous and sad, i incorporated another personal experience but in a different way smh why is my life full of disappointments. this is a heavy chapter, and i'm not joking around when i say that despite 96% of my summaries being memes and me being self-deprecating
> 
> *** correct summary:  
> in which lance loses his pills, FIRST TIMES how exciting, drunk 80s movies references, symbolic paralells made bc im a HOE for them, depression nation arrives again, shiro should be lance's true dad he's such a good person in my opinion, keith's origin story (ft sparse elliot and how he's crazy), it's always florida smh (also not being biased i lived there & hated it. well kinda being biased bc i despise it but nonetheless), con-artist keith back at it again,  
> A G O N Y, and the main baes pidge/hunk are BACK you triflin' if you thought i'd leave them in chapter one nu-uh sweety this book CARRIES ON, and.... [drake voice] woaooaoaaahhhhhhh, trust issueesssssss woaAOAOOAOOOa
> 
> ENJOY

Lance’s intense, burning hatred for Hipparchus and math was not even a distraction anymore. He completely finished his trigonometry test in fifteen minutes, but his mind was concentrating on something else.

 

Everything was coming into place – or, at least, in his theoretical connections. From the second day, when they collided on the bus, he remembered the contact name having the same last name as Elliot’s, and if that means they are related, it would be even more messed up that the mysterious person paid Keith $400.

 

Anxiously tapping his pencil’s eraser on the desk, Lance impatiently watched the clock’s hands tick ever so slowly, the lead in his pencil getting closer to the verge of falling out from how many times he’s clicked it. His mind was a warzone of questions and worries, especially about Keith. Not even his brother’s wellbeing was as much as an issue, and he believes that stems off from how responsible Francisco was: how much Lance was able to _trust_ Francisco.

 

The fact that it was Valentine’s day didn’t help ease his mind of the clusters of troubles bothering him.

 

 _Click. Click. Click_.

 

Kids still taking the test were sending nasty glares his direction, but it didn’t lessen the amount of uneasiness blooming in his stomach. _Why did it suddenly feel fishy all over again? It’s only been a month, and they were almost back to square one._ His left hand twisted the mechanical pencil around instead, the right one scouring his bag for his meds.

 

 _It’s not there_? Was all that went through his mind, alarms and warnings shouting at his conscience to stay calm. Meds, meds, meds. _Tap, tap, tap_. _Where could it be_? He wasn’t sure if he dropped it, or possibly forgot it at home. They were never prescribed to the school’s nurse, and if somebody found them, he would be screwed.

 

The abrupt ring of the school bell made him leak a tiny squeal, quickly packing everything up and hurrying out of Shiro’s classroom for lunch. Kids, ranging from all kinds of heights and builds, crowded into the moldy hallway, making it impossible for Lance to investigate the area for his pills.

 

“Shit,” releasing an antsy exhale, he continued down to the lunchroom, searching around for Rolo or Shay. Allura was stuck finishing her math test, and that only left two options for people he could rely on. Once he turned to the drama room hallway, the sea of people seemed to disappear into thin air, making the atmosphere around him less tense and more searchable.

 

A familiar head of hair was in a group of four humored boys, handing something over to them before they headed into the bathroom. The scene seemed so out of place to him, but he knew better than to suspect immediately whenever Keith was with another person – he learned from that encounter with Shiro at the hospital.

 

Turning around on his heels, he continued searching for his bottle of pills despite feeling completely hopeless about finding them. “Trust him, trust him..” The bundles of laughter deriving from the bathroom was nothing to worry about, the only thing on his mind was his medicine.

 

Because even though he’s not taking them as well as he should be, he knows that without them being there when he needs them, it’s going to end in a disaster.

 

\--

 

“Lance, I’m sorry that we didn’t find anything…. We’ve been looking every break that follows class…”

 

“It’s fine, Shay, Rolo… thank you.”

 

The three were out of breath from running all around the halls for the past few minutes, huddling up together by the senior’s section of lockers. Most of the students were outside of the school already and loaded onto their buses, but there were still a few stray kids seen roaming around the halls every few seconds.

 

“Lance, let’s go… the buses are about to leave.”

 

His eyes focused on the dirty tiles underneath him, still intending on searching for his pills before someone else finds them. “No, you guys head out, I’m gonna walk home. I gotta do something before I leave.”

 

“Lance…”

 

Rolo’s words were cut off once Lance began to bolt down the same hallway they were just down, nearly bumping into a few teachers in the process. Shiro was the unlucky victim of his fast-paced beeline, dropping his stack of papers on the ground.

 

Lance immediately froze once he heard the dozens of sheets scatter across the floor, hurriedly picking them up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you-“

 

“It’s fine, it happens,” His soothing, nervous chuckle was enough to curb Lance’s guilt, the two piling the tests in a disorganized fashion. “But what’s up? You’ve looked distracted all day since you took the test. Are you worried you failed?”

 

“A-ah, no! I mean, well yeah, but that’s not what I’m… I lost something really important today, and I can sorta’ kinda’ get in trouble for it if someone finds them?”

 

Shiro whistled in understanding, brushing off any dust from his pants mid-way through his tune. “Let me guess, meds? I’ll never understand why students would get in trouble for something they need to take-“

 

“How-“

 

“How did I know? Keith had found pills today around lunch time and I caught him, but it seemed strange, since he doesn’t have any prescription pills anymore. You should probably go talk to him.”

 

Setting the last couple of tests on top of the messy pile, Lance bid his teacher a genuine expression of relief, suddenly feeling way less anxious. “Thank you, I’ll go do that. See you tomorrow?” He caught a glimpse of Shiro’s brief nod before jogging down to the entrance once again, noticing that all the buses already left. “Oh, well-“ A car’s horn began to blare in the middle of the parking lot, a tanned hand waving from the driver’s window.

 

Lance was gawking at the driver’s audacity to be so obnoxious for about ten seconds, before Allura’s head popped out of the window rather than her hand. “Need a ride?”

 

“Oh my God, you are so _embarrassing_!”

 

 

His scream got the point across for a fraction of a second, before the exact same vehicle pulled up right before him, blasting _The Weeknd_ way too high for being on school property. Even though he was thoroughly humiliated from his friend’s daring behavior, he snuck his hand into the door’s handle, positioning himself comfortably in the leather seat he’s sat in way too often.

 

They didn’t have to utter one word over the lyrics: Allura sped down the street and followed the usual route to his grandfather’s house, letting the music fade into a more upbeat genre. Nobody was home once again, and the thought was enough to make him shudder. Especially because of what holiday it was today.

 

Rushing a last goodbye over his shoulders, he barreled straight into his house, locking the doors to ease his paranoia of someone breaking in while he’s cooped up in his room, eating all the chocolate he bought for himself the week prior. The handle on the door was way less cold than the one on Allura’s car, not having to warm his chilly fingers up again.

 

“Alriiight, let’s get it on!”

 

There were three bottles of SKYY on his floor, along with an extra Jack Daniels positioned on his sheet-less bed. On top of the alcohol not belonging to him, there was Keith already on the floor besides his mattress, staring at the painting of him that Lance stole back from his grandfather and taped back to perfection. Lance, however, was not able to form any words from shock – hell, all he wanted to do was stay home and watch some 90s cartoons to relax from his day full of tests, but now his supposed-boyfriend surprised him hard enough to knock out his ability to speak.

 

As if he finally acknowledged the awkward tension in the room, Keith moved his head to face the astonished boy, a wide grin painting over his usual frown. “Welcome back.”

 

Nothing was making sense to him, and he completely disregarded the fact that he wanted to ask where his pills were – now, he was entirely fixated on why Keith went to such extremes without even telling him. “W… what’s this?”

 

The blue hair scattered even more across the mattress as he scooted down the floor, a clouded-over look in his eyes. “Valentine’s Day treat, ‘figured that you’d be all stressed out after exams… _whup_ ,” He heaved once he stood up, nearly losing his balance in the process. Lance wasn’t sure why Keith thought it would be a good idea to get obliterated when there was still more testing to come next week, but he could care less – the boy in front of him was already somewhat drunk, downing another shot glass of the whiskey he hid behind him. “Ahhh, shit’s so good when it burns your throat.”

 

Snorting at the peculiar comment, Lance bent down and retrieved the half-empty bottle from the carpet, and downed the rest of it in one go. Whatever brand it was, it hit way rougher than Jack Daniels, and he actually stuck his tongue out from how sour it was against his dry throat. “Never again.” Keith snickered from Lance’s disgusted face, falling back on the mattress from laughing like a lunatic.

 

“You really need to get a mattress, this is way too hard of a bed.”

 

Lance also plunged himself backwards into the bed, head rolling towards his right to watch Keith’s chest go up and down with each ceasing giggle. “Tell me something new.” Keith sloppily rolled himself more to the left to be directly in front of the other’s face, the couplet of indigo eyes boring themselves into a nearly-sapphire pair.

 

His icy hands cupped the boy’s cheek in front of him, giving them an impulsive Eskimo kiss. Shivers were generating across Lance’s whole body from the sudden touch, the corners of his lips twitching upwards from not being able to contain his happiness. He was about to return the gesture but froze instantly, hearing a car pull up and the engine shutting off.

 

“Shit, we gotta go, Keith!”

 

Pushing him off the bed, Lance quickly picked up all the bottles from his room and uncomfortably managed to get himself out the still-broken window, Keith following behind him. Without one word being spoken, the two boys sprinted straight to the house only feet away, Keith unlocking the door as Lance juggled the five bottles in a clumsy manner.

 

Stumbling inside the house, Lance swiftly placed the bottles onto the closest table, trying to slow down his rapid breathing despite enjoying the refreshing sensation. He forgot how invigorating it was to run away from his grandparents, especially when it came to sneaking around with Keith – the kid they despised with every inch of their heart. The distinct sound of a lid popping off distracted him from his thoughts, a mischievous beam being distorted behind the liquid and SKYY label.

 

The pitch-black Vans left skid marks on the chestnut, wooden floor as they got closer to the other pair, two bodies meeting only millimeters away underneath the doorway’s arch.  Swigging a large amount of vodka, Keith waited until he swallowed the massive gulp before handing the bottle to the other boy, exchanging the booze multiple times until there was no drop left.

 

Lance felt the recognizable high bubbling inside of his stomach, but this time was different: he wasn’t lonely, he wasn’t heartbroken, and he wasn’t bruised all over. He wasn’t with his friends, no, he was with the person he adored the most – the person who he could stare at all day and never get bored of watching them.

 

 _The Neighbourhood_ was roaring out from Keith’s phone on the table, mingling with the sounds of exaggerated chuckles and inhales. A hand was offered in an old-fashioned manner to Lance, who gracefully accepted the offer, being tugged around the kitchen by Keith’s unsteady movements. He was being spun around, and the scene resembled Rose and Jack’s dance way too much for him to stay serious during the whirling motions.

 

Both his arms were wrapped around Keith’s neck, who dipped the taller boy down until his head nearly brushed the floor. Bliss and amusement coexisted with each other between the two boys, reenacting the dramatic dances from mainstream films and deepening their voices to match Patrick Swayze’s. Most of the songs clashed with one another, ranging from Troye Sivan to David Bowie and _Fall Out Boy_ , but there was nothing better to listen to in Lance’s opinion. He was simply enjoying every beat, every movement, and every reference made to tacky 80s movies.

 

“ _Nobody puts Baby in the corner_ ,” Keith mimicked Johnny Castle’s husky tone, twirling Lance around one more time.

 

“ _This is an incredibly romantic moment, and you're ruining it for me!_ ”

 

Keith nearly dropped Lance on the ground, but avoided the nasty fall by lifting him up, and swooping him off his feet. The taller one was being held bridal style, and he couldn’t help but blush insanely from the gentle touch cradling him safely. “I can’t believe you can imitate Ducky’s voice like a champ.”

 

“Is- is that a good thing or a bad thing?!”

 

“Who knows?”

 

Keith quirked up an eyebrow as he placed Lance back down, the ambient intro to “Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby” making the mood settle into an even more romantic one to Lance. Now that the two finally parted, they both took a few more shots of alcohol, the music still blasting in the background. Lance’s attention was fully centered in on Keith’s every move, especially the way his eyes got more dark than when they were still in his bedroom.

 

Keith, who felt the glare burning into his soul, squinted his eyes at the other boy in suspicion. He snapped his fingers in front of the dazed boy, awakening him from the strange hypnosis he was under. “Something the matter?”

 

“N-nothing! Nothing at all, why’d you say that? Perfectly a-okay, coolio beans.” Lance nervously spoke, backing up into the counter behind him, Keith’s feet pushing his feet apart to make room for him. “What are you trying to do?”

 

With a playful snort, Keith leaned his head forward as Lance bent his back, ultimately leading to an awkwardly-close, and quite intimidating position. A shrewd grin blossomed as the boy in front of him ducked his head to the right, eyes flicking to the same direction. His shaky breath was enough to make Keith realign their faces, suspense doubling each second once their foreheads touched. “Tell me how you like it.”

 

“Huh?”

 

A pair of pale hands situated underneath Lance’s jawline, warm lips urgent against his own. He was being guided along slowly in the kiss, the freshly-cut nails of Keith’s lightly scratching against his neck, which drifted down to his hips. The tiny gasp was enough to halt them from making another movement, mouths hovering over one another desperately. Lance was no longer feeling the nippy weather against his blazing-hot skin, particularly the areas where Keith recently touched tenderly.

 

He was engulfed in the entire shock factor of the encounter, and didn’t notice Keith’s gruff voice grumbling behind his ear until his breath tickled the soft, sensitive area. “Like _that_?” Lance was swooped up by his words, and physically lifted onto the counter, hands exploring underneath his baggy shirt and kindling figurative flares across the touched spots. His own rugged breathing was silenced by the thumb sweeping across his bottom lip, the rough patches of skin amongst his finger print making Lance’s lip quiver and tingle.

 

Realizing how much he was reacting, Keith messed around with the band of Lance’s skinny jeans, an erratic string of exhales hinting at how much Drunk Lance was enjoying getting played with. Confidence was being exuded out from dominating the boy under his hands, taking pride in how flustered he was making his neighbor become. Retreating his hands to the front of Lance’s body, he unbuttoned the tight jeans with ease, hastily pulling them down the thin, mocha-brown legs.

 

The same _BANKS_ song that Lance first peeped on Keith to was sending goosebumps down his body, simultaneously being freezing cold and burning hot. Pressure was gripping at his hips once again, Keith pulling him up from the counter: impulsively, he secured himself by draping his legs over Keith’s waist and arms around him once again. Keith could handle the weight of holding another person, managing to walk backwards into his own unlit room, the light from outside being significantly darker than an hour ago.  

 

Slamming the door shut with his heel, he continued to navigate his way to the bed, resting Lance down on the white comforter. After he maneuvered his way out from the other’s encasement, he promptly tugged off his shirt and straddled the boy within seconds. The music could faintly be heard from beyond the closed door, but the unavoidable sounds coming out from underneath him were even more loud.

 

Adrenaline from dominating was setting Keith on fire, Keith unbuckling his jeans and slipping them off - this time, he began to toy with Lance again by slowly grinding against him. An immediate hiss pierced against his eardrums, Lance shooting up and hugging him tightly. “ _Fuck_ , Keith…” Burying his head in the crook of the controlling boy's neck, Lance couldn’t imagine how something so simple could make him feel dreamlike; this entire hour has been unbelievably exciting and stimulating, and now he could rival gunpowder in how explosive his insides felt.

 

His breath hitched once a palm directly touched underneath his boxers, expertly gliding against his length.

 

“F-f-f-fuck, _fuck_!” Bucking his hips upwards, he could make out a muffled sneer from above him, a smooch being planted on his bare neck, followed by a love bite. While one was a strangling mess, the other was being as composed as ever – both wanting the same thing.

 

“It’s cute,” Keith mumbled as he gently sucked on the spot he bit, a stifled whimper deriving from the body he was toying with. “Take it off.” His voice was strangely demanding and surly against the raw collarbone, being able to feel the vibrations coming from Lance bobbing his head in agreement. He managed to scoot himself free out of his boxers, the only piece of clothing left between them being on Keith’s body. “Good boy,” One hand was curling the disheveled hair of the stretched-out boy, another rubbing him off just right.

 

Surging currents of desire coursed throughout his frame, as he dropped his own underwear down to the floor without any regard for them. He could make out Lance’s longing eyes trailing down his naked body, and another wave of courage consumed him. Looping his grasp around the other’s wrists, he pinned them back behind his head, eyes widening from the action. Teeth were digging deep into Lance’s lip, trying to hold back any impulses from happening as he was being dictated by the boy poised above him.

 

Thighs mounted him still, blindingly-bright teeth flashing Lance one last cocky, lascivious smirk.

 

\--

 

A huge headache ruined the good mood he was in, Lance’s head perfectly symmetrical to Keith’s as they cuddled. Slews of hickeys and bites enveloped both of their builds, a few sown-on Lance’s thighs that still were incandescent and red against his tanned color.

 

Raising the tangled hands in the air, Lance lovingly stared at them in disbelief: he still was in awe that he just had his first time, especially with the person he held high in his heart.

 

Keith groaned at the sensation, batting his eyes drowsily at the boy. The clock read 12:07, and Lance kept waking up every hour from the developing migraine that pulsated across his forehead. “Go to bed, you’re going to get an even worse hangover if you don’t.”

 

“I can’t sleep,” Lance snuggled up even closer to the head next to him, placing a tender kiss on the lightly-freckled nose.

 

“You’ve been waking me up non-stop… do you already have a headache?”

 

“Yep.” He dramatized the pop on the P, a whimper of annoyance coming from Keith.

 

“I’ll go get you some Motrin, but only if you promise to fall asleep afterwards.”

 

Treasuring the sight in front of him, Lance propped himself up on the pillow, cheek leaning against the freed palm. “Okay. Thank you.”

 

Mumbling something that sounded like a sarcastic ‘welcome,’ Keith floundered out of the room, scratching at the back of his head before he opened the door. He couldn’t stomach what was boiling inside of his stomach – it modeled a phenomenon similar to queasiness, but it didn’t make him feel sick. In fact, Lance felt more alive and jubilant than ever before.

 

The door clicked shut once again, a dip developing in the bed seconds afterwards. “Here, I also got you some water.”

 

Taking the two tablets from the offering hand, Lance bid him a dazzling smile, true happiness and warmth developing him all over again. “Damn, I love you… thank you.” The words slipped out before he could process them, gulping down the two tablets without any hesitation. He still didn't understand why Keith's eyes were resembling a deer's who was blinded by headlights, but he didn't question it any further than his own mind did.

 

Situating the cup on the nightstand adjacent to him, Lance curled back up underneath the fluffy covers, peace overwhelming each of his senses enough so he could get to sleep one last time. He did take into consideration that there was not someone spooning him like before, but the thought of Keith sleeping next to him was enough of a comfort; he was completely relaxed and calm, dozing off in record timing.

 

Before he could reach REM sleep, he could distinguish the sounds of the room – despite his slight snoring, he listened to the door being opened and closed, followed by keys clanking, and a car driving off from the distance.

 

Tiredly, Lance arose from his fetal position on the bed, blinking five times until his eyes could view clearly. “Keith?” Nobody was lying next to him: there was nobody in the room.  Scavenging himself out from the tangled sheets, he put on whatever shirt was nearest to him and a pair of sweats he found on the floor, drowsily slumping out of the bedroom.

 

“Keith?”

 

All the lights were off, and the phone he left on the coffee table by the front door was no longer there.

 

Concern flooded his sleepy system immediately, darting out of the door and sneaking back into his own room – nothing. There was something, however, that he forgot all about from the previous morning.

 

The bottle of antidepressants was back on his laptop, but were half-empty. In that instant, he recalled Shiro claiming that Keith found them. How Keith and a group of other strangers were giggling and cramming into the bathroom by the drama room.

 

How Keith was already intoxicated when he got home, and how that wasn’t enough time to get completely plastered from alcohol alone.

 

Misery was welling itself back up in his core, Lance feeling his trust being shattered once again by the person he thought he could believe in. “Not again…” Pocketing his phone from the messy bed, Lance had no messages or calls from Keith about his whereabouts, more panic and skepticism blooming in his stomach.

 

His feet guided him throughout the house, quickly snatching his army jacket from a chair in the living room and storming right out of the place once again. He was racing down the street one more time, his Vans that he slipped his feet into hurriedly not fully covering his heels. Deposits from the run-down road were digging into his heels, but he continued bolting down the street nonetheless – he couldn’t live with himself if he couldn’t find Keith. He gave that boy everything he had: comfort, humor, affection… and his first time, which was the most important thing to him at the time. Half-dazed, Lance dialed up Shiro’s number that the school’s website provided, dashing down another block as he waited for someone to pick up the line.

 

 _Where was Keith_?

 

 

“Hello?”

 

The groggy voice was brutal against Lance’s ears, wincing from how loud his volume was.

 

“Shiro… it’s me… I need your help-“

 

“Woah, calm down, and catch your breath. Is something wrong? What happened?”

 

“It’s Keith… Keith is, he’s-“

 

“Meet me at the Dunkin Donuts by the school, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Just try to stay calm, okay?”

 

Shiro hung up on Lance before he could utter another breathless word, which he was thankful for deep down, since he was not carrying his inhaler and emitting all his energy by speeding down the roads nonstop. There was no sight of the motorcycle, or car, that Keith owned, and Lance wasn’t sure if he was more worried or disappointed at what was happening.

 

Even though he wasn’t completely positive, he imagined that this was what it felt like to be abandoned by someone you truly cared for. It was paralleling well with the pain and anguish he experienced when his parents kicked him out, or whenever his grandfather would brutally beat him until he could no longer move.

 

His ideal world was crumbling apart into the dust, but he didn’t have any traces of a panic attack coming along. No, there was no overwhelming anxiety bubbling up inside his chest, nor the usual tightness that pairs along with it. It was different this time: his heart was battered and beaten down to a pulp, evaporating into thin air.

 

This was his first time experiencing real heartbreak, and it was an unmerciful mauling on his emotions.

 

Betrayal has never been so damaging to him.

 

Streetlights surrounding the street were turning off, but he could make out a body clear enough to keep striding towards the shut-down coffee shop. The prosthetic arm was beckoning him closer with a stern-yet-worried fashion, kicking himself off from the store’s wall.

 

“Lance, are you okay?”

 

“Shiro…”

 

His own sobs curbed aside the inevitable word vomit he gets in times like these, throwing himself over his teacher and uncontrollably bawling into his Star Wars pajamas. Despite knowing how pathetic it would seem later, he couldn’t stop himself from completely drenching the black shirt into twenty-percent salty water, his eyes scratching against the coarse fabric.

 

“He’s- h… he…” Hiccups were forming after each syllable he attempted to speak, Shiro offering some solace and comfort as he rocked Lance slightly and steadily.

 

“Shhh, tell me when you catch your breath.”

 

Departing from the soaked tee shirt, Lance wiped away the stinging tears from his eyes and cheeks, trying to pace out his choked gasps enough to breath normally. “Keith… he just, he’s gone? I don’t know… I don’t know what happened, but he left me inside his house… and there was nothing left, no note or reason why he would leave…”

 

“What do you mean, _leave_?”

 

The stern tone in his question made Lance’s shoulders tense up in fear, swallowing any forming whimpers from erupting. “Keith left after we… you know…”

 

“Got it. Did you say anything, or was it just him acting up again?”

 

“I don’t – I don’t think I said anything provocative? All I did was take some painkillers for my headache, and I told him I love him and thanked him for the pills-“

 

“You told him you **_love_** him?!” Shiro unintentionally yelled, Lance wincing from the intimidating way he worded it. “Lance, you don’t get it… he doesn’t…” A sigh cut off his rushed speech, sitting himself down on the concrete’s edge and placing his head between his hands. Brushing them back to his messy hair, Shiro’s eyes appeared to be sympathetic with Lance, who was bending down to sit next to him. “He doesn’t love you, Lance… I’m sorry, but he doesn’t. He’s too jaded to feel like that, especially for you.”

 

The jab raided into his brain, all the insecurities and doubts he had about being Keith’s boyfriend finally coming to the surface and being accepted.

 

“But… but we had-“

 

“I know, I know.”

 

Lance was embraced by Shiro once again, his weeps being muffled against the rock-hard chest hugging him. A disgruntled sigh rumbled out into the cold air, nothing happening at one in the morning during the weekend. No sounds were interrupting them, no cars or bikes driving past.

 

“Did he ever tell you about his past?” Shiro’s utterance startled Lance, who stared up at the older man with a face that said it all. “It’s not really… something I should say, but you deserve to know the truth about what’s happened to Keith in the past- why he’s so lost and complicated.”

 

 

\--

 

_“Shiro, look at this! I found a shop that sells Screwballs! We gotta go!”_

_“Keith, I have to meet up with my English tutor…”_

_“But Shiroooo,” Keith clung onto the older boy’s legs desperately, a nervous sigh coming out from Shiro when he wouldn’t budge. “I know those are your favorites! Come on, come on! You don’t even have to go in, I’ll do it for you! Don’t worry! Pleaaseee, pretty pleaseeee?”_

_Raking his hand in his messy fringe, Shiro gave the younger boy a friendly beam, bending down to pry him off his calf. “Fine, fine. But only for ten minutes – where’s the store?!”_

_Keith’s two dimples appeared instantly, not being able to contain his laughter throughout his wide grin. “It’s on 32nd Avenue! Come on, let’s go, let’s go!”_

_“Alright, alright…”_

_Shiro reluctantly followed the younger kid’s directions on their bikes, watching out for any oncoming traffic or violence to avoid. Miami wasn’t a kind place in the parts the two lived in, and Shiro knew that better than anyone. Keith’s own parents were killed only a few blocks away from their house, and Shiro’s family took in the little kid when he was only four years old._

_Now he was nine years old, and Shiro was still anxious about Keith finding out the truth about his parents._

_The only familiar Nirvana song to him was blasting from across the street, a group of druggies rolling around in the grass and snorting cocaine. It always puzzled him that there could be a million police officers around, but the ones that always get in trouble are the ones that are barely involved with such incidents._

_A convenience store was coming into his vision, as Keith gradually slowed down his pace and trailed off into their parking lot. Something was unsettling Shiro, but he wasn’t sure if it was his paranoia acting up from just witnessing a drug fest on his way here. Also, the fact that the shop’s name was incorrectly spelled, made him even more nervous._

_“Ahh, I only have a dollar… would you happen to have another dollar on you?”_

_“Sorry, bud. I rushed out of the house without my wallet…”_

_“That’s okay! I can always come back tomorrow and get one, today I’ll be treating you!” Waving the bill around in the air like a flag, Keith set his bike across the store’s decrepit brick walls, not bothered by the fact that stray pieces of dried gum were only centimeters away from the handles. “I’ll be out in a minute!”_

_Shiro nodded at the boy, digging out his beaten-up Blackberry to explain how he’s going to be late. Keith was stretching out the crumbled, musty-smelling dollar to get rid of any creases, all the way down to the ice cream aisle of the dirty shop. Lucky enough for him, there was only one Screwball left in the barely-cold fridge._

_“Ooooh, lucky!!!”_

_His fingers started feeling numb after a few seconds of holding onto the chilly popsicle, navigating his way back to the front of the store. Even though it felt like someone was following him, he was too excited to see Shiro’s face once he exited the store. Keith knew how much his brother loved the gumballs in the frozen dessert, and was proud of himself for remembering such a miniscule detail years later._

_No store nearby had these in stock for two years, no matter how popular they were._

_“Is that a Screwball? Oooh, lucky! I thought those were discontinued years ago!” Keith spun his head around to look behind him, a guy dressed in all black leaning down to meet his height. “You must be quite a fortunate one! Are you getting those for your girlfriend?”_

_Red flooded the younger boy’s cheeks instantly, stuttering on his words in the process. “N-no! This… this is for my brother!”_

_“Ehhh? What a good kid!” The stranger rustled Keith’s short-but-shaggy hair, their peculiar smile bearing a missing canine. “If they aren’t your favorite, what is? Ice cream sandwiches? Drumsticks?”_

_Keith’s thumbs were fiddling around with each other, a shy expression plastered on his face. “Well… my friends always say it’s too girly, but I really like Strawberry Shortcake bars. I can eat the whole box!”_

_More missing teeth were appearing, seeming to have been to poor hygiene. “Same here! Isn’t that funny? I actually have a couple of boxes in my car from Walmart, do you want one? My friends and I love them.” With hopeful eyes, Keith enthusiastically bobbed his head, the guy sneaking his arm around him. “Well, looks like I made another one! What’s your name?”_

_“Keith!” There was a small chuckle coming from the man, who tightened his grasp on the unaware boy._

_“What a nice name, I’m Nate.”_

_The Screwball slipped out of his watery hands, rolling all the way into the dusty, mold-infested corner. “Oh, no! That was the only one, what should I do?!”_

_Both of Nate’s pupils dilated when Keith bent down to try and stop it from tumbling away, lines developing on his features when he deepened his smirk. “Don’t worry, I’m sure your brother will understand. Let’s go to him after you get your ice cream, yeah?”_

_A few tears were beginning to well up in Keith’s eyes, no matter how many times he vigorously rubbed them while Nate escorted him out of the back entrance. Kevin Rudolf’s vocals were progressively getting closer, along with a washed-out Toyota parked by the barbed-wire fence. The grasp on his shoulder tightened suddenly, as the other hand easily opened the passenger’s seat where the tallest boy was sitting._

_“Took you long enough, where’s my cigs?”_

_Nate groaned and dug out the unpaid box of cigarettes, tossing them into the scrawny guy’s lap. The hair on Keith’s skin began to prick upwards, but he was still being held with overwhelming power that no kid could fight against._

_There was a sinister grin emerging on Nate’s cracked lips, sending chills down Keith’s entire spine repeatedly. Before he could connect the dots, the hand that rested on his shoulder was squeezing his throat, Nate picking him up from the dusty ground. With his power, and the anonymous smoker’s strength, they both shoved Keith into the back of the truck, his forehead gushing blood from hitting the broken piece of a beer bottle in the back seat._

_“Quick, go, go!”_

_“I am, dumbass!” The ignition vociferously revved up twice under Nate’s heavy boot, the truck practically flying out of the employee parking section of the store._

_Shiro’s lost count of how many times he kept getting stuck on level ten of Snake, sighing irritably once he checked how long he’s been at it. “Seven minutes, and I still can’t beat it…” Scuffing his Converse on the muddy dirt deposits next to their bikes, Shiro grunted at the dirty color covering his white sneakers, and wiped it off on the filthy brick wall by the door. His eyes trailed up to the inside of the store and searched for Keith, but saw the entire store deserted inside._

_“That’s strange,” Furrowing his eyebrows, Shiro scraped the soles of his sneakers on the run-down mat by the unhinged doors, and traipsed right into the musky shop. “Excuse me, did you see a little kid in here?”_

_The shady-appearing clerk mindlessly pointed to the frozen-food aisle, which Shiro replied by giving a curt and quick nod before hurriedly walking over to the section. Despite the poor lighting, he knew that his eyes were not deceiving him – there was nobody else in the store. “Keith? Keith, this isn’t funny, come out now.” Turning around to the candy section, Shiro’s gaze fixated in on the single, dusting Screwball in the corner, ants grouping up around it._

_Panic settled in immediately._

_He spun back on his heels, bolting straight to the counter again. “Sir… please, my brother’s not here... you sure you didn’t see him go anywhere? He’s only nine years old!”_

_Shiro’s pants were mixing in with the cashier’s prolonged, monotone hum, fingers tapping on the foul register. “Sorry, I didn’t see anyone else in here – hey, that’s my car- that’s my fucking car!” The pointing finger directed Shiro’s attention to the loud truck zooming past them, barely catching a glimpse of the out-of-state license plate._

_\--_

_Sobs were intermingling with wicked chortles, waking a groggy-Keith up from unconsciousness. The room was still blurry no matter how many times he blinked his throbbing eyes: nothing was making sense until he realized he couldn’t move his hands up to touch his stinging temples. An unfamiliar sensation of rust and steel scraped against his bruised wrists, a myriad of different purple and green hues on both arms._

_Keith’s breath hitched the second he understood what was happening, his attention scurrying around the hazy room until they landed on other people. Lanky figures, similar to beanstalks, were getting close to him, a wave of anxiety crushing down on his credulous heart. A sick laughter was distorted in his ears, a ringing flowing throughout his right eardrum as soon as it rung from the faceless being._

_“Wakey wakey, it’s time for you to go meet the Zawiszas, they’ve been waiting patiently for their anniversary present,” the familiar voice hoarsely cooed, their figure bending down and tilting Keith’s head up. “Come in!” Another pair of tall beings entered the dim room, both masculine and feminine giggles coming from the foreboding figures. The only thing that was beginning to become clear was the horrifying, full-blown smirk on the fuzzy face in front of him. “Keith, here are your customers for the night. You remember the rules – no fighting back, unless you want to be punished again. Got it?”_

_Keith slightly bared his teeth in confusion and worry, but the terrifying person in front of him scraped his dirt-embedded nails on his plaque-covered teeth. “I said, got it?” The fingers under his chin flicked his Adam’s apple before sliding away, the man standing up and leaving the room. There was one last utterance between the three blurry bodies, a demonic cackle scaring the soul out of Keith._

_A few candles were lit around the dark room, a fragrance similar to peppermint wafting into his bloody nostrils. The presumed couple bent down in front of Keith, the shorter-haired one being noticeably pale despite his poor vision._

_“We aren’t here to hurt you, we’re here to have fun… right, honey?” A gruff voice spoke, being replied to with an overly-energetic nod from the one on the left. “So, let’s turn the lights off, right? Wouldn’t that be more entertaining?”_

_Keith wished to respond, but his throat was burning and closed, no audible sounds coming out despite how intense his feelings were. He absolutely hated the dark, especially when it was with people he couldn’t trust._

_Nonetheless, the already-dark room turned completely black, the only sources of light being the candles across the room by the chipping, wooden door that felt like it was miles away from his reach. Chilly fingers were probing his aching, throbbing skin, millions of pain signals reaching to his brain but no response happening. His body was as inanimate as a corpse, and the thought was frightening him; that there was no way out this time._

_This time?_

_A bite nipped at his clavicle, a surge of agony rushing to the tender and slightly-bleeding area. Bareness was a new sensation, and not a pleasant one, the sick twist of hopelessness gnawing at his insides. Cold touches against his scathing-hot, feverish body was heightening how nauseated Keith was, unable to brush the perpetrators off. Long nails torn open his battered-up shirt into the nothingness, roaming over the raw areas across his body from unknown whippings he’s received._

_He wished the candle’s flames would engulf him instead of the sick, icky feeling of their touches against his fragile frame. He wished that he could fight back rather than succumb to an unjustified and taboo process that even his own naïve mind comprehended as morally wrong._

_Focusing his blurry glare on the melting wax in the glass container was the only way to keep him sane, when all he wanted was to run away and seek out help. When he wanted the family he’s pushed away for years… for an inconceivable reason that he couldn’t even fathom, to protect him from the nondescript characters defiling him._

_\--_

_“Another hit, I ain’t done yet.”_

_“Coming, coming.”_

_Keith sterilized the needle being shared around amongst the other members, handing it to the next person waiting for their daily dose. Even though he refuses to touch any of the opiate drugs they have to package and deal, he gives some to the other prisoners to ease their pain and spite the overlords._

_A wadded-up piece of paper hit him in the back of the head, a few drugged-out laughs filling the tense air around them. His suspecting, sharp eyes directed themselves to the most devious person in the room – Elliot. The slyest wink he’s ever witnessed was the mastermind’s response before going back to swallowing three of the painkillers they smuggled out of the store._

_Rolling his eyes, Keith re-packaged the heroin to make it seem like it’s never been opened, stapling the overlapping plastic fully shut. “What do you want?”_

_The priceless, cheesy smirk bloomed right after his question, Elliot propping himself up against the scratched-up couch’s arm. “You, me, and a bottle of vodka after lights out tonight in honor of Independence Day. Wha’you say?”_

_“I say, that fake accent gets on my nerves each time you do it.”_

_“Sorry, sorry. So, yes or no?” His irresistibly embarrassing eyebrow dance was enough to make Keith comply with the dubious plan, placing both his hands high in the air to signal defeat._

_However, if he was told that he’d have to be sneaking out, he would have rather stayed home._

_“I can’t believe you, Elliot.”_

_“Shh, you’re too loud. Watch your landing.”_

_Keith’s feet safely touched the wooden porch with no clear noise, adrenaline starting to course through his veins when he realized he’s outside of the place he’s been in for almost a year. Elliot’s hand interlaced its way into Keith’s clammy and tremulous one, dragging him along into the woods behind the weed-infested house._

_Fireworks were blasting high in the clear, starry sky, the boisterous booms strangely making the anxious boy calm down. The grass in the woods was extremely dewy, but that didn’t stop the two from plopping down in it, dirtying their already-shabby clothes._

_Elliot began to rummage in his hoodie’s front pocket after handing the full bottle of Vodka to Keith, an iPod being displayed to a shocked audience of one. “Dude, you know we can’t use those. That’s for-“_

_“For what? Huh?” He tucked in a single earbud into his right eardrum, throwing the device into the lap besides him. “I pocketed it from that country bumpkin that took you in. He deserves it in the end.” Elliot poked Keith’s tense jaw, a genuine smile working its way back onto his mouth. “C’mon, I put some of my favorite songs on there. I think you’ll like some of them.”_

_Pursing his chapped lips in thought, Keith nudged the giddy fellow next to him, caving into the pressuring influence of the boy he was closest to. “Fine, but if there’s any disco on here, I’m leaving.”_

_“Hey, what do you have against disco?” The nastiest stare was facing Elliot, who shrugged from the piercing sensation. “Just play it, dumbo.”_

_Keith, who possessed minimal experience with iPods, clumsily scrolled down until Elliot told him to play a specific song, the band name being enough of a warning. He was not expecting, however, a Latin beat coming from an artist called Pierce The Veil. “Besitos” pummeled into his ears once Elliot secured the other earbud into it, chills developing across his dampening skin from how good the song was in his opinion._

_The duo alternated between taking gulps of the Vodka bottle, gradually becoming intoxicated after the album ended and transitioned into Sleeping with Sirens instead. Drunk Keith was pleasantly surprised by how much he enjoyed the music, his head bobbing up and down to the guitar’s rhythm._

_Three fingers that were splashed in alcohol directed Keith’s chin to his left, his nose bumping into Elliot’s prominent one. His touch felt comforting, no matter how many times he’s denied it in the past – but this was more than a friendly gesture. Elliot traced the pads of his fingers up to the cartilage of Keith’s left ear, brushing back some rogue strands to reveal the pale scar from his kidnapping._

_A cloud was being drawn on the scarred area, Elliot’s pupils dilating in the process of invisibly painting different shapes on the healing cut. “Fuck, I can’t stand what they did to you. What they did to us.” His breath reeked of alcohol, but fanned cool air onto Keith’s face that was only centimeters away. “You don’t deserve that… don’t deserve to lose your innocence for the sake of other’s sick interests.” His fingers and eyes traveled down to the now-colorful lips of Keith’s, grazing a calloused thumb against the rough, pink skin. “I really like you, but I’m terrified of hurting you like thoh- those bastards have,” Elliot’s words were beginning to come out slurred and hurried, a blushing glow dispersing across his facial features._

_At the time, Keith didn’t think that this was the beginning of his dependency on Elliot Fischer, but it stemmed off a whole world of new possibilities and dangers to the two of them._

_“I like you, too.”_

_Elliot pressed a soft, quick peck on Keith’s quivering lips, too nervous to do anything else in fear of something going wrong._

_“That’s… enough,” He roughly stood up, the earbud prying itself out and accidentally smacking Keith in the face. “I gotta… gotta do somethin’ about this.”_

_“Elliot?”_

_“Stay… and enjoy the music…” There was a sullen expression contorting against his usually-quirky face, fists balling up as he eyed Keith down. “Don’t look back.”_

_He drunkenly stumbled out of the woods, not giving Keith enough time to stand up and chase him down – the other boy was gone, and Keith was left alone in the dark with a few drops left of Vodka and an impaired iPod. The fireworks were still erupting in the sky, giving enough light to stifle his growing anxiety from taking control._

_The same album continued to play in one ear, the other trying to pay attention to any sounds nearby. Another boom exploded in time with the next batch of multi-colored fireworks, but Keith didn’t suspect something was odd about the different sound until he felt heat catching up to him._

_Slowly tilting his head back to search for the source of heat, his vision landed on an impending fire coming from the direction of the house. Along with horrifying screeches and alarms blaring from the same source. Keith scurried up from the wet ground, and dashed straight for the origin of the blazing fire. Too many things have happened in the past few hours, and this took the cake without any fight._

_Windows breaking and car sirens were becoming more prominent to hear, until he finally saw Elliot breaking them apart with the wooden bat the overlords had for precautions against any unknown visitors._

_“Elliot – Elliot! What the hell are you doing?!” Keith slapped the bat out of his hand, gasoline overwhelming the stench of vodka that drenched a section of the crazed boy’s wrist. “Did you just fucking light the house on fire?! There’s still people in there- there’s innocent people in there!”_

_He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol kicking in, or reality, but Keith swore he heard a demented chain of chuckles deriving from the frenzied kid only steps away from him. “Fuck it, we’re getting out of here after I get my revenge!” Flicking on another cigarette lighter, Elliot ignited another fire on the beaten-up vehicle, shoving Keith away from the site of the arson. “They deserve this, Keith, they deserve it. And all those people in there? They’re dead inside already – look at what they’ve done to us… heh, this is what justice really feels like.”_

_The haunting sounds of wails and fire alarms was permanently lodging itself into Keith’s memory, his vision making out a burning body on the porch before his eyes were shielded from the sight. “Where- where are you taking me?!”_

_“Wherever home is… wherever it may be.”_

_\--_

_A loud bang from the apartment complex’s lobby woke Shiro up from his barely-asleep state, jumping up from the bed and discarding his blanket to the freezing floor of his room. His half-drowsy-self grabbed whatever was nearby and swung the front door wide open, flashing the tiny flashlight he just took in the faces of the intruders._

_Two boys, completely covered in mud, gasoline and vodka, were blinking furiously from the sudden light blinding them. Shiro rubbed at his bleary eyes, until the two kids weren’t so fuzzy to him, and he felt his heart drop into his stomach once he found a pair of indigo eyes ogling at him._

_“Keith – holy shit, is this real?”_

_“Help us out, damnit... it’s been an hour of walking…” Elliot spat at the oldest in the room, who was offended at the sudden barge-in on the emotional moment._

_“Come in, come in.”_

**\--**

 

 

There was an awkward silence between the two of them, Shiro scratching his nails against the concrete barrier. Lance let the story settle into his hungover brain, making all kinds of connections to the abundance of epiphanies and confusing moments he had with the missing boy.

 

“Of course, that still doesn’t give him a reason to run off… hell, I don’t even know where he is, and I’m his brother…”

 

Shiro’s self-deprecating tone was enough to ruse Lance into action, furiously shaking his head to refute the connotation behind the statement. “That’s not your fault! He did it himself… I’m sure we’ll be able to find him one day, right? It’s not like… he could just disappear off the face of the Earth without telling a single soul-“

 

“He could. I wouldn’t put it against him.” Shiro’s solemn face was resting on his knees, a fake, transparent smile on his trembling lips. “Broken people can break the usual tendencies of human nature. Don’t you know that by now?” His eyes flicked down to the revealed scars on his wrists, an all-knowing glint developing in them.

 

Everything was beginning to make sense to Lance – how all those times he thought the two’s behaviors were peculiar, actually have a purpose and meaning behind them. He never felt as dumb as he did now for not realizing it before tonight.

 

A pained moan distracted him from the derogatory insults he had for himself, Shiro standing up and dusting off any gravel from his butt. “I should probably bring you home, sorry that I can’t get you anything. Everything’s shut down.”

 

“Home sounds great.” Lance got up from the concrete without any grace behind his movements, nearly falling down a few times. A trigger was turned on from the interaction, but he wouldn’t realize it until it was too late.

 

Lance managed to rebirth his depression to a new level.

 

**⁂⁂**

 

 

 

Two baffled faces were forming in front of Lance, all their tea having been finished mid-story.

 

“Are… are you kidding me – what happened after February? Were you this skinny in February – not all of my questions are _answered, shithead_!” Pidge launched the remote at Lance’s head, hitting him in the space between his eyes successfully. “That Keith is gonna feel my **wrath** for treating you like shit! I don’t care if he’s been hurt, that’s no excuse to be a dickwad of epic proportions! I’mma kill him, Hunk, get my taser-“

 

“Calm down, Pidge! … I mean, yeaaahhhh I may be a little agitated too from the audacity of the guy, but it’s not the time to be giving death threats to someone you don’t even know.”

 

Hunk, the actual voice of reason in the trio of friends, helped Lance feel at ease after his story and Pidge’s rage outburst – however, that comfortability ended once again, the gremlin across the room growling and grumbling French obscenities.

 

“Nothing much really happened after that day… I mean, my grandfather beat me a few times once he found out, and Fran contacted me recently about how him and his girlfriend are doing. Beyond that, I’ve just been going on as I normally do. I’ve been taking my meds properly, too. Oh, and I bought an apartment only a few minutes away.”

 

“Oh, _Lance_!” Hunk swung himself out of the chair, and jumped on top of Lance, nearly making the seat go backwards from the heavy impact. Pidge, despite brooding and spitting out a million profanities, also joined in on the gang-up against the tallest out of them, messing up his hair even more than it already was from the first time they tackled him outside.

 

After surrendering to their demonic tickling for roughly two minutes, the friends he left behind were finally letting go, nostalgic expressions on both their faces.

 

“What?”

 

The two deviants shared a knowing look, before getting in Lance’s face once again.

 

“Show us a picture of Keith, and we’ll stop bothering you.” Pidge and Hunk harmoniously threatened their friend, a haunting aura coming out from the shortest one.

 

Reluctantly, Lance caved in to their intimidation, scavenging for his phone in his back pocket. “You know, I should really get paid for this…”

 

A call scared all three of them, Lance nearly dropping his unprotected phone onto the floor. The contact was one he hasn’t heard from since he began packing up to move back to Cañon City, which was alarming enough. Without hesitating, he swiped the accept button, preparing to hear something about the score he got on his final exam.

 

“Shiro, what’s up?”

 

Hunk and Pidge squinted in bewilderment, everything happening too fast for them to comprehend. Pidge, who lived for hearing others’ drama, was deeply saddened that they couldn’t make out what the deep voice was saying – they had to imagine what the caller was saying based on the aghast countenance Lance was wearing mid-call.

 

“Are you serious? Don’t joke around like that, Shiro…  
Send me the link, please. Thank you.  
If I find something out, I’ll tell you.”

 

The phone’s screen turned black once again as the call finished, Lance’s hands locking with one another and covering his tremulous mouth. A message came through to his phone, but he wasn’t even looking down to see what it said, eyes firmly positioned on the cat mug on the table in front of him.

 

“Can you look at it for me?”

 

Hunk responded first to the nervous, weak beg, scooping up the iPhone from Lance’s lap and scrolling to the link. The two, who were extremely worried for their friend, were silently reading the article that Shiro sent to him, a photo of someone popping up with their named labeled under the caption.

 

“Lance, is that-“

“No blue hair though…”

“No shit, that’s what dye is used for,” Pidge snatched the phone back from a processing-Hunk, and shoved it straight into Lance’s face. “That’s not only your painting, but that _is_ the infamous Keith I presume, correct?”

 

Blinking twice before focusing on the photo, Lance could make out the sea-themed painting he made nearly half a year ago, and how the color scheme clashed with the person’s holding it – cherry-dyed hair, no nose ring, and all black clothes.

 

The only similar splash of color were the indigo shades that were only in the irises the person possessed.

 

“That’s him, all right.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so v proud of myself i s2g if i made too many errors or the pacing's too fast im gonna die. just  
> d e a t h  
> too many words to search through and i have been writing for a total of 18 hours please let me live 
> 
> alright your local emo is OUT and ready to go snack on some leftovers and rejoice in everyone's misery from writing this bc i'm a sadist when it comes to writing
> 
> XOXO gossip girl


	10. TEN: Baby Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> otherwise known as: where keith's the narrator for 95% of the chapter and you feel the pain/emptiness way too much that you start crying into your mug of coffee  
> like i did
> 
> ANYWAYS YES WE HAD TWO SNOW DAYS AND IM ALREADY CONFUSING TODAY (FRIDAY) WITH SATURDAY IM JUST A MESS BUT THATS BEEN DETERMINED SINCE YOU READ THE FIRST WORD OF THIS BOOK OKAY EMO TABBY NEVER SLEEPS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: (domestic) violence; mentions of - blood, hospitals, & cuts 
> 
> yea theres a time skip bc the first section i got kinda bored of writing and i told myself i would write at least ONE chapter in keith's perspective. tell me if you guys liked his POV better! i can always switch it up a bit, and like always, feedback is GREAT. also this chap is heavily inspired by Mother Mother's song "Baby Boy" & you should check them out js. i should get paid for advertising tbh
> 
> ★ in which lance & keith both have emo moments, elliot is an asshole, why are the smiths mentioned in a negative way when this hoe (me) loves them?, being in manhattan is a thing, blood is becoming a reoccurring theme and idk how i feel about that, keith is a v complex character but you already knew that, BARISTA KEITH?!!!!?!?!!!?!111?!?!?, multiple new OCs i'll prob never talk about again mentioned, [careless whisper plays in the bathroom scene you'll know what i'm talking about later], & the obligatory hospital scene 3

_Beep._

 

“ _Shit, shit, shit_ …” Lance whisper-screamed at himself, turning off the coffee pot quickly and making sure nobody woke up from the blaring sound. The time read 3:01 on the dot, and he couldn’t sleep for the past three days. Nonetheless, he snuck into Hunk’s house with the spare key his friend gave him, just to make coffee since his machine was completely broken already.

 

Pouring the scorching-hot coffee into the same cat mug from four days back, he saw a distorted reflection of his droopy eyes and worn-out expression in the grime-covered carafe, instant dread flushing out his weariness. Each day, the cycle has been the same: midnight restarts the chain and segues into loneliness, then a few hours later, self-contempt boils up to the surface, and the rest of the day switches back and forth between lethargy and anguish.

 

There was no way for him to channel out all the locked-away emotions he’s built the past couple of years, and he could feel himself on the edge, staring down at a warped void underneath the cliff.

 

Swirling some of the vanilla creamer in the mug, Lance ogled at the diffusing light-brown color in the cup, too distracted to hear the footsteps padding down the creaky floor of Hunk’s house. While one hand was preoccupied with mixing the caffeinated drink, the other unscrewed the cap of his antidepressants, scavenging for two tablets blindly. His two hands moved, but his eyes were planted on the reflective surface of the coffee pot, absorbing how terrible he appeared.

 

 _Disgusting_.

“Lance…”

 

“Holy fuck-!” The coffee splashed on his jerking hand, a burn visibly forming despite the lights not being switched on. “Ah, shit, shit, my wrist!”

 

“Watch your language, some people are trying to sleep,” A small elbow nudged him in the hip, stealing the coffee pot and downing half of the remaining amount in one gulp. “You’re starting to worry us, you know. Did you even eat yesterday?”

 

Pidge’s question made the fidgeting boy twitch, realizing that he hasn’t had any food in the past two days. “Um…”

 

“Why do I ask when I already know the answer?”

 

The dissatisfied sigh was painful to hear, Pidge’s glassless-face leaving an intimidating impact on the sleep-deprived boy. After glaring at Lance with a puzzling intention, they plodded down to the fridge, rummaging around in the meat drawer as the other intruder guzzled down the sweltering drink. To Lance, it tasted bitter enough to awaken his exhausted soul, closing his eyes and sticking his tongue out from the overwhelming, nasty sensation.

 

A chilly stick was smacked onto his forehead, eyes bulging out from the sudden movement. Pidge was waving a massive slab of pepperoni in front of him, a teasing-smirk developing their famous dimples in the unlit kitchen.

 

“You _caaaan_ eat it, you know, if you stop sulking around and avoiding your hunger.” Lance swallowed the bitter-saliva forming in his mouth, salivating from how appetizing it appeared to be – his stomach growled from accepting the fact he was starving, the two freezing from the obnoxious sound.

 

Hunk’s snoring ceased in the seconds following after the rumbling-stomach, both of the trespassers ducking down by the cabinets.

 

“Are you fucking serious, Lance?”

“I-I couldn’t help it! It looks so good…”

“Shhh, we’re going to wake him up!”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t scare me-“

“Oh, so now it’s **_my fault_**?!”

“I wouldn’t have done that if **_you_** weren’t here!”

“ **YOU WANNA GO, LIL’ PUNK**?”

 

“What are you two doing here?”

 

Hunk’s groggily-deep voice startled the infiltrators, Lance slamming his head against the wooden cabinet and groaning instantly. Pidge was swallowing down their nerves, sitting up from the kitchen floor with a plan.

 

“Um… you see, Hunk. Lance and I wanted to surprise you! As a late… reaaaaallly late, birthday present! Ahaha… Right, Lance?” Their face displayed the most terrifying, daunting grin he’s ever seen, his head nodding in response before he understood what the small demon meant. “We were planning to go on… a college road trip! Yep, remember when you said you wanted to check out Northern universities? Well, yeah, Lance here had such a great proposal and I thought that it’d be more funny if we surprised you!”

 

More nervous laughter followed their proclamation, but Hunk – sweet, easily-deceivable Hunk – naïvely squealed in joy, grabbing his two friends into a massive bearhug. “Really?! I’d love to! I’ve been saving up for this since last year’s birthday!” That overly-genuine grin of pure bliss was making Lance’s heart skip, remembering how much he cared for Hunk, and why he was the one who could always make him feel better.

 

“Yep! We just… need a game plan… right now it’s in the works, right, Pidge?” He flipped the hot-spot back onto the other friend, getting the most wicked death glare from them that was even visible in the dark room.

 

“Uh-huh! Let’s see, how does June sound? A bit after school gets out up there?”

 

“You guys are the best. I love you.” The hug got even more tight, Lance seriously fearing for a second that he’d need to use his inhaler afterwards. “Let’s hash this out after mom comes home from the midnight shift! … Actually, let’s wait ‘til the morning. She’s scary when she comes home. Like Morticia Addams except Samoan-“

 

“ _Alright_ , Hunk.” Pidge snorted, messing up the bedheads in front of them. “And Lance, go get something to eat before we both stab you.”

 

Hunk added on to the legitimate threat with a blinding smile: “With kindness.” Lance wasn’t too sure if he’d be prefer getting killed by Pidge physically - with her innovative thinking, or by Hunk’s overly-benevolent nature making him feel guilty for not eating. Either way, that slab of pepperoni was calling his name, and he refused to be murdered before he got to see the school of his dreams: NYU.

 

**⁂⁂⁂**

 

Nicotine has never been as sweet.

 

Exhaling clouds of toxins slowly, Keith’s eyes fixated on the sea of people forty-floors underneath him, traveling quickly in the city streets. Smog covered the skyscrapers and apartments in front of him, roughly around the same color as the dull cigarette smoke.

 

Rising the Marlboro back to his cracked lips, Keith repositioned himself in the scattered sheets, back placed against the foggy window as his knees reached up to his chest. A box of red hair dye was crumpled up on the hotel’s floor, along with two pairs of jeans and sweatshirts. The shower’s water was running behind the bathroom’s locked door, steam flowing out from the same direction.

 

And the same song looped on each day, the lyrics implanting themselves permanently into his mind.

 

“ _I never never want to go home_ …”

“Because I haven’t got one anymore...”

 

Tapping his free-fingers to the beat, Keith let out another puff of smoke, a pent-up sigh following the toxic streams. Repetitive sounds of construction work and honking cars always added a new taste to the continuously-played song, _The Smiths_ beginning to become more common sense to him than how to multiply numbers by two.

 

Sealing his eyes shut, Keith tried to tune out the pulsating water from the attached restroom, and the growingly-annoying voice of Morrissey’s blaring out from a distorted iPhone across the bed. All he could see in his mind were the days when he didn’t feel this perpetual knot in his stomach – the times where he could wake up and not recall every negative reason behind life. Or the mornings and nights that didn’t consist of an everlasting nihilistic crisis. Or the afternoons where he wasn’t focused on how his heart beat seemed to cease months prior.

 

“Toss me the towel, will ya’?”

 

Annoyance rumbled throughout his entire stomach, gritting his teeth and tossing the already-used towel in the naked boy’s direction. “I told you to stop fucking talking in that fake country accent years ago. It’s so agitating.”

 

“Damn, someone’s panties are in a twist,” Elliot’s normal voice mumbled, messily drying his hair in the musky-smelling towel the hotel provided. “Something bothering you?”

 

A million bothersome topics floated around in his brain, but the only word he could muster was ‘nothing,’ leaving himself to brood in peace. The clock on his own phone alarmed both of the boys, cutting through the inevitable tension between them from the off-handed response. “I have to get to work soon, where’s my black jeans?”

 

Keith scurried up from the bed, swiping whatever sweater was left on the disarray called _the bed_ , and quickly scavenging his head throughout the too-small opening. Elliot scratched his head in thought, not noticing how hasty the other boy was behaving. “Um… no clue?”

 

“Well, I can’t _fucking_ go without pants! My khakis are drying outside, damnit!”

 

“Hey, calm down… it’s just a pair, you can borrow mine…” Elliot was cut off by Keith’s prolonged groans, dragging his hands down his eyelids and cheeks. The offended, half-naked boy was eyeing a pack of cigarettes left on the bed – in only a matter of seconds, his pruned fingers clutched onto it and dusted off the ashes on the towel wrapped around his waist. “Marlboro can’t do shit if you’re a hot mess all the time, and it’s not my problem if you’re going to throw a fit like some child, too.”

 

Keith watched in disbelief at the apathetic person in front of him, another wave of smoke blowing out into his face. Days like this reminded him exactly why his relationship didn’t work out with Elliot, and why he wanted a way out of this toxic hypnosis in the first place. With an irritated sneer, Keith forcefully snatched the wrinkled pair of grey jeans – that were not his – from the chaotic hurricane on the sheets, shimmying his way into the pants' legs all the way to the door.

 

“And turn off that fucking song before I lose my goddamn mind, for Christ’s sake,” Keith snapped at the indifferent boy, sliding into his Vans and feeling the worn-down fabric scrape at the back of his ankles. “I’m off.”

 

Slamming the door shut, Keith secured his phone in the back pocket, and stomped all the way to the elevator, scaring off a few residents with the intimidating scowl he wore. There was a Starbucks right across the next block, and his shift began in fifteen minutes, but he wanted to break away from Morrissey’s lyrics before he would _actually_ go crazy.

 

All the people crowding the streets were either dressed in powerful suits, hipster-wear, or gym attire, a surge of unfamiliarity pouring down on him. Even though he’s been in Manhattan for a whole month now, Keith realized that this wasn’t permanent: nothing was permanent, and his empty soul longed for another breakaway from the claustrophobic, congested city.

 

But he also knew, deep down, that he would never be happy anywhere if he couldn’t be happy with himself first. It’s not the place that changes emotions, it’s the person; however, Keith would deny that all the way to his grave. He was terrified of facing the true core behind his character, and wore a mask for not only others, but himself.

 

Patting down the unrelenting flyaways that kept sticking upwards, thanks to the god-awful humidity, Keith sped up once he caught sight of the clock: only eight minutes left until he had to be there, and he was half-way to the street. Everyone gradually blurred out as he got closer to his job, the sunrise barely visible to his bolting frame. Six o’clock was sneaking up on him, but he clocked in three minutes before his shift truly began, hurriedly tying the apron across his hips and washing his hands one last time.

 

“Hey, Keith, can you do me a favor?” His boss startled him, head poking out from the stall they were secretly in. “I hate this song and Yessica’s playlist. Can you play something else? I’ll give you a bonus… I swear I can’t stand this crybaby voice of Charlie Puth.”

 

Nodding his head, Keith air-dried all the leftover water on his hands before walking out, his pulse way too fast for just getting a jump scare from the person who owns the place. His somewhat-wet fingers were making skid marks on his cracked screen, scrolling down to select the playlist he wanted to work to.

 

 _Broken Bells_ blasted across the entire shop, a few college kids tapping their feet along to the song's beat. He quickly got himself adapted to working behind the counter, double-checking that the cashier was still working correctly despite it being used since midnight. A couple of customers ordered the same lattes and frozen drinks, and it clicked instantly that today was going to be a dismal day – not only because of the weather, but because of how the orders are repetitive. Just like _The Smiths_ back at the hotel, and the constant bickering with Elliot.

 

“One Iced Caffè Americano coming up!”

 

\--

 

Life has been frozen since March, and Keith brooded over the past few months on his lunch break, staring out the window and sipping on his sugary Butterscotch Frappuccino. Both index fingers were tapping on the table to the rhythm of his favorite _Jaymes Young_ song, long nails clinking against the wooden tabletops. A couplet of backpackers – probably travelers – were getting closer to the shop’s vicinity, wide smiles plastered on their lips and fog clearly tousling the shorter one’s fluffy hair.

 

“Maybe I should go auburn…” Keith grumbled to himself, the trio sitting behind him getting goosebumps from the surprising voice. His eyes flicked up to the mahogany-dyed strands of hair coating his forehead underneath his Starbucks cap, twirling the dead bangs until the door opened.

 

The same couple from before were now lining up into the store, the more-muscular boy digging out his tacky Harry Potter wallet from his cargo shorts. “Hunk, I don’t know what I’m more shocked about. When did you get that Hufflepuff wallet – no, where did you get it? Hot Topic? And those shorts, I’m so embarrassed.”

 

“Listen, Hufflepuffs are cool, you’re just a jealous Slytherin, _Draco_ Gunderson.” The tone had a bit of playful-spite behind it, a tiny smirk developing on Keith’s lips from eavesdropping. Their banter reminded Keith of someone dear to him, but he flooded out the memories as soon as they came to the surface.

 

“You wanna _go_ , boy?”

 

“Chill out, Pidge, Hunk. You forgot to pay for your pretzels!”

 

Shivers flew down Keith’s spine, spinning around in his seat from the surprising voice he hasn’t heard in such a painfully-long time. The tallest boy, as lanky as ever, wrapped his arms around the two jeering friends, accidentally skipping a few other people in line to reach them.

 

Oh, did _Oasis_ fit Lance abnormally well. “Slide Away” was distorted in Keith’s eardrums from his worryingly-fast heartbeat, mouth agape in disbelief and eyes immobilized once they landed on the solemn simper he wore.

 

“You owe me a drink. I can’t believe how expensive everything is up here, for Christ’s sake… there goes all my rent.”

 

“Then maybe we never should have gone to check out colleges half way across the _fucking country_ , idiot.” The smallest friend lifted their glasses, a dubious beam directed upwards.

 

“ _Vete al infierno, eres un pendejo_.”

“T’es rien qu’un petit connard.”

 

A string of multiple, fast-paced French and Spanish sentences were spoken, which Keith could barely understand. Even though he traveled to Spain and France three months ago, he only knew enough to pass by without speaking English.

 

The Hufflepuff guy was separating the two from getting in each other’s faces, hands waving back and forth at a blinding rate. “Guys, guys, calm down, we’re next in line. Do you even know what you’re going to order!?” Keith’s coworker, Yessica, was awkwardly grinning at the three troublesome customers, eyeing Keith with the intention to kill him for taking a break now. Grimacing, he picked up his chilly drink and paced up to the counter quickly, dodging out of their sight to the best of his abilities.

 

He dragged her down with him, hiding from the waiting line. “Yessica, I can’t – that’s, I know them.”

 

“Do I fucking care? No, I’m not dealing with these annoying kids.” Her hand tightly cupped his face, eyes widening like a crazed woman. “I’ve been at this alone for fifteen minutes, will you say no to someone who is about to stab you with the millions of straws that're only _inches away_?” His eyes swooped to the other side, biting down on his bottom lip in fright from her threat. “That’s what I thought. Stand up, Keithy-boy. No pussy shit allowed when I’m _this_ close to becoming the manager.”

   
  


Getting pushed up, Keith brushed off any dirt from his jeans, forcing his best smile to project to the next customers. “Hello, welcome to Starbucks. What would you like to order?” Lance’s eyes shifted away from the short companion of his, planting the pair of blue irises on the cashier. The half-pout-half-grin on his face fell instantly, sealing his lips shut and straightening both brows out.

 

“Hi, can I get an iced coffee with milk? Make that Grande, please.” Hufflepuff-boy wore a genuinely-happy visage, crinkles forming around the edges of his eyes. Concern and disgust simultaneously bubbled up inside of him, the overly-friendly face making him feel agitated. How could someone be that cheerful in a coffeeshop? With someone as distasteful, obscene, and abominable as himself working there?

 

Curling his fingers against the cuff of his sleeve, Keith nodded, a twitch forming against his fake smile. “Coming right up. Anything else I can get for you?” He was met with silence, and a face of pensiveness boring into him.

 

“Come on, Pidge, order your coffee…” Hunk – or who Keith _presumed_ was Hunk – nudged the staring person in the stomach, not making them budge a single inch. “Pidge?”

 

“ _Ah_.”

 

Pidge slammed her fist into their other palm, eyes darkening instantly once they uttered a response. Lance was avoiding all their gazes, pretending to be extremely interested in the poster hanging of the Heimlich Maneuver’s steps and directions. Keith gulped nervously, no longer bearing his teeth out in a standard-manner.

 

“Pardon me, is there anything else?”

 

His question was met with a fist in the face, his nose audibly cracking despite the radio being horrendously loud. Gasps were erupting from the whole store, multiple pictures and videos being taken of the surprising altercation happening in Starbucks. Pidge flew over the counter, knocking over the stand of straws in the process, and barreled their two knuckles into Keith’s face nonstop.

 

The forming bruises would match perfectly with the ones scattered across his back from Elliot’s outburst days prior.

 

“Pidge, Pidge, stop!” Lance’s shaky voice was higher than normal, his frightened expression clearly visible to Keith once he held back the fighting machine. “That’s enough, you’re going to get banned from every single store if you do this! Stop…”

 

“I don’t care! That bastard deserves to get his lights knocked out until he’s begging for mercy!”

 

Their dainty frame was thrashing violently in Lance’s tight grasp, glasses falling onto Keith’s rapidly-moving chest. Hunk peered over Lance’s steady shoulder, gawking at the employee aching on the sticky tiled floor with an indescribable look of distress.

 

His tanned finger, even though it trembled terribly, pointed at Keith’s disformed nose, a perturbed countenance forming on his features. “Blood...”

 

“Don’t look, Hunk. Pidge, take him outside.”

 

Lance spun around, safely placing Pidge back down on the floor. The viciously-strong, yet tiny, friend was not masking the genuine concern clouding over their face, glaring up at the dark circles dusting under Lance’s baggy eyes. “Lance-“

 

“It’s fine, go. I’ll take care of this,” Choking back his usual word vomit, Lance switched directions once again, and headed over to the nearly passed-out body on the floor, holding out a firm hand in the process of bending down. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

Keith’s eyelids opened once again, allowing him to observe the hurt expression on the boy’s face in front of him. The irises that usually reminded him of the calm, low tides of the ocean were appallingly eerie, resembling fierce tsunamis rather than the usual peaceful pacific. His fingers interlaced with Lance’s for the first time in half a year, initiating worry rather than comfort – unlike the last time.

 

Everything was different, and it was all his fault.

 

Wobbling, Keith was being dragged along by Lance’s forceful steps, the bathroom door swinging wide open and slamming onto the wall from the power behind his push _. Was he angry, was he hurt? Why was he behaving so cold_?

 

Keith’s eyes were frozen on the water rushing out of the sink, Lance soaking a paper towel and balling it up, the scratchy texture scraping at the gashes on his nose. The gentle touch was the only aspect that remained the same, never making the bleeding boy wince in pain.

 

“You’re still sweet, even to someone like me…” Keith swooped off the hat on his head, brushing back the matted bangs behind his ear. No words met his commentary, but Lance did pause for a second, his wrist jerking after the bitter words cut through the silence. The emotions that he’s kept captive for so long were oozing out of their cage, Keith’s lip beginning to convulse as a reflex to prevent the outburst.

 

Nothing has ever been as awkward for him: this was the first time there was a pang of true guilt and heartache afflicting Keith. His gaze traveled up to the face hovering over him, witnessing the expressive countenance transform into a cloaked, fake mien, hiding the figurative flames ablaze behind his optics.

 

The drenched paper was thrown into the trash bin, Lance never looking back at the seated boy in the handicapped-bathroom stall. With the mirror, only a few inches away from him, Keith could see the dilating pupils of Lance’s once they saw the blood flush down the drain, his hands completely coated in the foreign substance.

 

Keith couldn’t avert his focus away from the shaken-up boy’s tensing shoulders, the atmosphere gradually forming into one of tension and enmity.

 

“How could you do this to me?”

 

Tear drops splattered down onto the porcelain sink, the seated boy being able to distinguish the heart-wrenching sound from the radio’s ambiance. The simple phrase made the bottled-up feelings in Keith break free, watching Lance turn around and unmasking the bloodshot eyes of his, water dripping down from his tear ducts.

 

His legs acted before he could comprehend what was going on, lounging for the bawling boy and falling to the ground. “Lance, don’t cry, please don’t-“

 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” The trembling palms shoved the redhead away, cheeks becoming more pasty with each choked sob. “You made me so fucking miserable! This entire year, I have been in so much pain, and you took advantage of me – and, and I’m just… I’m stuck behind in the past, completely absorbed in every single thing about you, or what you’ve done to me!”

 

“I’m sorry…”

 

“Don’t say something you don’t mean-“

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Stop, _stop_ , you have no right to do this-“

 

“I’m sorry.” The repeated couplet started strong, and now, it was dripping in sorrow, the powerful sense of remorse making Keith’s words sound just as unsteady as the other’s.

 

Lance’s mouth was opening wider with each repressed weep, his eyelids covering the reddening vessels of his sclera. Once again, Keith engulfed the trembling boy in his arms, rocking them both back and forth slowly. The salty drops of water were saturating his knitted sweater, but Keith didn’t mind: his own cries were being absorbed by Lance’s cardigan.

 

“I’m s-sorry I’m such a fucking mess… I’ve hurt you so much, and it-it pains me to know that. I know that I’m horrible, and I…” His sniffle paused him midway, trying to catch his breath in the fast-paced apology, “I’ve been a victim, and I’ve become the abuser myself… I’m so fucking sorry, you-you didn’t deserve this.”

 

Rugged nails dug into the back of his sweater, touching the sore, beaten-up spots covering his entire backside. His small gasp didn’t go unnoticed, Lance immediately freezing in his arms.

 

“Keith?”

 

The sloppy, snot-covered face was staring at him with sincerity, Keith’s throat burning from crying this bad for the first time in years. He didn’t want to hide anything anymore, especially to Lance – the person he’s made as broken as himself, and owed everything to.

 

His hands fell to his sides, expertly untying his apron and draping it on the door’s hanger, moving onto lifting his sweater. Lance’s expression couldn’t be more revealing, eyebrows raising up to an unnaturally-high position: once Keith impulsively unveiled his entire back, from his tailbone all the way up to his trapezius, a bounty of discolorations and contusions were displayed.

 

Soft finger pads were trailing down his stinging skin, Keith’s breath coming out rigid as Lance got closer to the band of his jeans. “Who did this to you?”

 

“Who do you think?”

 

Keith crooked his head to the side, his right eye being able to look back enough to watch Lance’s jaw clench up in understanding. The sweater was beginning to fall back down, but a pair of hands that didn't belong to him completely hoisted it off Keith’s body, exposing more scratches, bites and hickeys on the front-side. Inexplicable queasiness blossomed in his stomach, the other boy taking in the entire bruised, upper torso displayed before him.

 

“Nobody deserves to be beaten, even if you’ve done bad things before.”

 

“I do deserve it: I’m irredeemable, Lance. Nothing’s going to change my history of fuck ups and damn-poor decisions.” A grief-filled smile stretched out on his twitching lips, suddenly wishing to dress himself up once again. He didn’t mind being physically naked, but the thought of having his true nature being shown off was enough to make him uncomfortable; his teeth roughly bit at the dry skin on his lips to curb away his nerves, covering his blushing face in the process.

 

“Nobody’s record is scot free from mistakes. I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you as many times as I need to… you aren’t a bad person. And you don’t have to suffer at the hands of another for what you’ve done. Your past doesn’t define you unless you force yourself to believe that it does.” Mocha-colored fingers pried away Keith’s pale ones from concealing his expression, a beautiful pattern developing in Lance’s corneas that were too close for comfort. Despite his cheeks being a bit flushed from weeping, the redness in his eyes was dying down as the minutes passed, the two boys goggling at one another, foreheads pressed together just like the last time they were together.

 

A suggestive glint coursed through Keith’s eyes, craving more of Lance’s soothing touch. His warmth was nothing like the cold, rough touches of Elliot’s – nobody could compare to Lance. A tiny smile halted his anxious biting, gaze flicking down to the prominent clavicles of the taller boy’s: they were protruding way more than before, when they were enshrouded in teeth marks and maroon vessels.

 

“I miss you,” His fragile voice was barely audible, rubbing his nose against the side of Lance’s. The other boy slowly bobbed his head, a longing expression clinging onto each crook and cranny of his face. White clashed with brown on his jawline, Keith dragging his thumb lightly around the shape of the peachy lips. “I crave you.”

 

“ _Christ_ …” The breathy word tickled the skin on Keith’s thumbs, Lance’s own palm looping over the one stroking him. “You gotta stop making me feel conflicted,” His head tilted upwards, the tips of their noses gently colliding into each other.

 

“Maybe I put a spell on you.”

 

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

 

The door was kicked wide open, Lance’s two friends staring in shock at the boys who were in a tangled mess by the wall, lasciviousness radiating off from the suggestive position.  

 

Hunk immediately shielded Pidge’s glasses from watching the spectacle, Keith pushing Lance off him and hurriedly sliding the inside-out sweater over his messy hair. “Oh – oh my _God_! I can’t unsee this!”

 

“Let’s go, Lance! NYU’s orientation is about to start!” Hunk navigated his way out of the stall, shoving Pidge along with him. Keith and Lance both gawked at one another, before they both couldn’t contain their laughter anymore, clutching at their stomachs from how forceful the chuckles were. “Eight more minutes left! Hurry up!”

 

“Coming, coming!” Lance stepped out of the stall, but peered back in, projecting Keith one last cheesy grin. “To be continued…”

 

“Oh my God, I can’t believe I dated someone who makes Jojo memes in real life conversations.”

 

Spiraling away from the stall door with cheered-up spirits, Lance saluted the cringing boy goodbye, hustling back up to where the other two were anxiously waiting for him. “Adiós, muchacho.”

 

Affection flowered in the core of his being, warmth enveloping the entirety of his head. The strange, exotic feeling was impossible to stop, the corners of Keith’s beaming lips piercing into his heated cheeks – he hasn’t seen these dimples in years, in fact, he forgets he has them on the daily. Even though the cuts on his nose were completely raw and grim, he still wasn’t able to end how much the fuzzy-feeling was overpowering all his organs, particularly the heart.

 

Absentmindedly, he managed to maneuver his way out of the bathroom, and planned on going back to work, hoping that all the hysteria from before wouldn’t get him fired. Even though he absolutely despised, and detested, working at a busy as hell place like this.

 

However, as soon as he could see the counter, a familiar painting was being held up by a shaking hand, a sharp stare digging right into his soul.

 

“I don’t know whether I should call you a snake, or a serpent.”

 

\--

 

“Stop, stop!”

 

“Fucking bitch, you deserve this.”

 

One hand was raveled up in Keith’s matted hair, the other was gripping onto a knife, its edge carving into the shoulder blades of the boy underneath him. Red was everywhere on the hotel sheets – whether it was stains from the hair dye, or the blood cascading out of his figure, was no longer distinguishable.

 

The butt of the knife was being beaten into his spine once the dissecting stopped, Keith thrashing underneath the brutality behind each strike. He was forced to hear multiple bones breaking in his back, but couldn’t feel which ones it was after the first two: he was growing numb to the pain overtime.

 

“Hooking up with another guy at work, what’s up with that?” Pulling the injured body up by their hair, Elliot held the knife underneath their chin, a wicked cackle flowing into their eardrums. “Is that the same guy who made that painting you claimed was yours? Huh?” The blade was pressed against Keith’s swallowing throat, the cold touch making his eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. “Answer me, damnit!”

 

“Fuck you…”

 

“What did you just say?”

 

“I said, fuck you.” Keith’s tremulous head forcefully barreled into the one behind him, the two bodies falling over in the aftermath. His weight was crushing the lower-half of Elliot’s frame, Keith trying to move around despite not being able to feel half of his backside. Flipping himself over, Keith kneed the thigh underneath him, Elliot’s hand flying up in response to the inflicted area. The knife was left behind on the bed, his eyes centering in on it with fierce determination.

 

Morissey and Elliot’s voice both died out, the only noticeable sonance to him being the pulsing heartbeat he possessed.

 

His teeth bit down onto the butt of the knife, lifting it up safely from the sheets and re-positioning himself to face the other hunched over body. Elliot’s pupils were dilating once he realized the sharp end was extremely close to in proximity, breath hitching instantly.

 

“Keith, put it down… here, I’ll take it…”

 

He was met with a defiant shake of the head, the almost-crippled fingers managing to grasp the handle. Fear was surging through the veins of his being, Elliot hurriedly standing up from the bed.

 

“Don’t… you don’t know what you’re doing, _I’m sorry_ , **please** put that down!”

 

“Since when did ‘please’ or ‘stop’ mean anything to you?” Keith croaked, his functioning legs swinging over the bed’s edge and situating himself onto the carpeted floor. His back was facing the door now, slowly approaching a spooked Elliot until they were only a step apart. “Are you going to-“ The knock on the door was enough to startle Keith enough to drop his knife, barely missing his right foot as it landed.

 

Four menacing eyes were staring at each other, the boys both planning the other’s move and never making another step further. No more knocks followed, but since they were relatively quiet, the hotel’s housekeeper unlocked the door, wheeling in a huge basket full of laundry. First, she noticed the tangled-mess, also known as the _bed_ , drenched in various shades of red; second, the contrasting contusions on Keith’s back, along with the freshly-made slashes on his spine.

 

And lastly, the blade that was in between the two suspicious fellows.

 

“J-Jesus Christ, what has happened here?!” She dropped the cleaning supplies in the laundry basket, rushing over to the strange scene unraveling by the windows. “You need to get your back cleaned up – what do you think you are doing?” The lady, whose nametag spelled out _Lihua_ , continuously switched her gaze between the two scowling faces, trying to decipher what was happening between them. “I’ll be taking this,” Her hand shakily picked up the knife, placing it in the dust-covered apron’s pocket, “And you, I’ll be taking to the hospital across the street. For _you_ ,” The long, acrylic-painted nail was pushed into Elliot’s chest, sending him sliding down the window. “ _You’ll_ be paying for this mess.”

 

\--

 

Even though Keith’s been surrounded by needles for the past few years of his life, he always hated the feeling of something getting injected into him. Especially through IVs in his hands.

 

The nurse, who was checking his blood pressure, was writing down the unknown numbers and data on the clipboard’s massive supply of paper. “Sir, do you have any emergency contacts?”

 

 _Shiro, Shiro, Shiro, Lance, Shiro_ – “No, I live alone.” Whatever the nurse’s name was, they hummed in suspicion, glaring sideways at the stitched-up incisions on his back. Personal disgust was more powerful than their judgmental staring, but he would deny that until the end of time – Keith gave them the ‘bitch look’ right back in spite. “What, is there a problem? I got cut. So did your mother when she had to birth you via  _cesarean_.”

 

An offended, too-loud gasp followed his insult, not doing a good job at hiding the fact that he nailed the truth head-on.

 

“Yeah, yeah, just finish the tests and self-judgments already, um…. _Tiffany_. I want to go to the bathroom.”

 

“It’s Tiffan _ë_.”

 

“Don’t care, are you done?”

 

Numerous twitches traveled across her two thin, penciled-in eyebrows, showcasing her best smile, despite it appearing extremely unfriendly and forced. “Yes, I’ll be back in an hour to refill your IV. Hopefully then you will not be as _groggy_.” She spun around, heading out the door with her cheap sneakers squeaking against the recently-cleaned tiles.

 

Keith blew a kiss in her direction once she peered back, a cocky smirk forming on his dried-out lips. “Sorry, sweety, I was born this way.” The door was pounded shut in haste, the doorknob rattling a bit afterwards. With a sigh of relief, Keith sat up in the hospital bed, dangling both legs off the bed until they made contact with the slippery floor. Nobody was coming past the door, and he decided that now would be the perfect time to make a run for it. He wasn’t going to waste his entire paycheck on that crappy hotel, along with a hospital fee for something he didn’t do himself.

 

Nearly falling over, Keith balanced himself on the IV’s bar, the wheels barely making a sound as he dashed out the stuffy room. Whatever drugs they forced down his body, were working wonders: his back was barely an inconvenience to his stealthy escape.

 

Patients with different ailments – some guessable, some not – were completely focused on what the doctors were saying to them, or getting blood work done with distressed expressions. Others were crying in the waiting room, and a couple of parents were sleeping by the doors where their loved ones resided behind, most likely sedated with Xanax to calm down.

 

Too many sob stories were unwinding in this very hospital, but Keith refused to let another one breed here. He was not someone that believed in sad stories, no matter what he’s been through: labels or not, Keith was Keith. Nothing more, nothing less.

 

Just another miniscule being in a vast world – solar system, galaxy, and universe.

 

Security guards were too absorbed in escorting a weak elder to the elevators to notice Keith storming out of the front doors, ripping out the IV from his hand as soon as he reached the humid summer heat outside. Rummaging in his hospital gown for his phone, he luckily located it in the back where the straps were, safely tied around. Even though he looked like a lunatic scratching at himself, he managed to get the phone out of the tight knot – granted, his shoulders popped three times in the process.

 

The pads on his fingers swiped repeatedly through his contacts, until he reached the L section, selecting the name with a black moon emoji attached on both ends. His breath was catching up to the sudden fast-paced jog he transitioned into, jaywalking across the street and getting a few honks, and middle fingers, in response. Nine rings after, his ears were met with idle chatter and chortles, along with the faint hum of David Bowie’s “Heroes” in the background.

 

“ _Pidge, stop_ – **hello**? _Pffttt, stop it! That’s ticklish_!”

 

“Lance, are you there? Are you still at NYU?” His voice didn’t seem as desperate and hoarse in his mind, but it was probably multiplied from the phone’s beat-up speakers.

 

“Yeah, somethin’ the matter?”

 

The person he wanted to meet was already busy, but he wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass him by. They were only here for colleges, right? Not for him. _Not for Keith_. “Nothing, can you just wait there for a bit? I need… I just want to talk. I’m by their medical center, where are you?”

 

“Um… the Jeffrey S. Gould Welcome Center, don’t know the street name, though…”

 

“That’s fine. I’ll find my way, just wait, okay? Promise me?”

 

“Yeah, of course. Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” His tone was fretful in the worst sense, piling up more guilt on Keith’s soul for making him worry about someone as meaningless as himself.

 

“Yeah. I’ll be there in a second, wait for me. I swear I’ll tell you everything.”

 

“Keit-?” Lance’s inquiry was cut off by Keith hanging up, running down the avenues and streets of the packed city. He didn’t care if he shoved tourists into other ones, or that he made some people spill their food and coffee, or the fact that he stepped on a homeless person’s rotting shoes. Determination was a fickle thing, and he wouldn’t let this chance slip out of his grasp this time.

 

A burden too heavy to hold by himself was on the brink of being discovered from someone he cared for deep down, in a way he’s never felt before, and he wished for the chance to confide in someone he could trust for years. Since he was held captive. _One of the stitches on his back came undone from overuse_. Since he got drunk for the first time with Elliot. _Horrified exhales surrounded him everywhere he went, blood dripping down from his cuts_. Since he first understood what true loneliness and despair was. _His bare soles had all kinds of foreign substances on them, coating the gravel shards in his skin_. Since he realized that he was in love for the first time even though he, himself, was unlovable.

 

All the city nonsense and noises were muted out, Keith getting worse and worse tunnel vision as he sprinted down with a limited supply of oxygen left. The target he’s been chasing, whether he realized or not, was only meters away, his speed slowing down once their head turned to face him.

 

“Keith?”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY JS I WENT TO NYU ORIENTATION AND I CRIED BC THE SAT SCORES NEEDED ARE SO HIGH I S2G I FAILED MINE ESPECIALLY MATH BUT WE'LL SEE
> 
> HOPE THIS WAS OKAY I'LL EDIT LATER WHEN I REREAD IT AND SCRUTINIZE HARD ENOUGH TO SEE EVERY SINGLE MISTAKE OF MINE 
> 
> also i made this playlist on playmoss (fuck u 8tracks im not paying for it) that i'll keep updating with new dank tunes that i write to. its a bit of a mess bc multigenre but OH WELL the only thing you'll never hear me listen to is COUNTRY   
> https://playmoss.com/en/dunfrappe/playlist/anathema
> 
> ALSO (x2) THINKING ABOUT MAKING A NEW FIC???? BUT IM TORN BC I DONT WANNA WRITE JUST KLANCE ALL THE TIME, WHAT DO YOU GUYS THINK 
> 
> im rambling at this point so i give up. sayonara


	11. ELEVEN: The Day You Died

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NO this isn't titled "the day you died" bc someone dies it's a song by phantogram and it's symbolic bc @keith changes a LOT during this chapter. hoping that this isn't fast paced bc i wrote this chapter at like 10 different times/days?!!!??!  
> LEGGO 
> 
> also, for the last scene, here's the playlist that keith has bc i'm a sap & love music too much kms: https://playmoss.com/en/dunfrappe/playlist/keith-s-mixtape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: mentions of blood & mental illness, graphic violence, and sexual content (i think that's everything?? idk tell me if i forgot anything bc i didn't proof read it whoops)
> 
> ** THIS HAPPENS DIRECTLY AFTER CHAPTER 10 IN CASE YOU FORGOT.  
> IN WHICH DRAMA HAPPENS, KEITH PULLS HIS SHIT TOGETHER IN THE END (angst nation), WHY IS ELLIOT STILL HERE LIKE BY E BITCH, the obligatory cheesy scenes bc why the hell not, sexy time, and some domestic breakfast time ft a frugal keith. life is great everyone.

  
Arms enveloped Lance into a tight, desperate embrace, his legs stumbling until they were both backed up into the building’s wall. Different shades of red engulfed Keith’s frame, whether it was blood or blush.

 

“Hey, what happened? Why are you in a hospital gown? And Jesus Christ, you’re _bleeding_!” A flustered Lance gently pushed Keith off him, eyeing his bruised, stitched-up body in full glory.

 

“I’ll tell you later… do you guys have a hotel room? I need to take a shower-“

 

“No _shit_ , you’re bleeding everywhere. Hunk, can you put in the address?”

 

Pidge interrupted the two, digging in their bag for a couple of spare Band-Aids to keep the suspicious figure from dying via blood loss. Hunk, who followed behind their shorter friend, was covering his eyes to avoid the gruesome scene, not being able to take gore well in general. Lightheadedness was taking over the scarred boy’s brain, not taking in enough oxygen after he ran through a ridiculous number of roads and avenues to get here.

 

One of Keith’s wrists was held onto by Lance, dragging him along with the other two as they navigated their way through the city streets. Everything about Manhattan was bothersome to him – the obnoxious car horns, the stench of cesspools lingering in his nostrils on each block, the blinding street lights. Places he once loved were ruined for him, like a domino effect, all because of two people: Elliot, and himself.

 

Nerves surged through his slightly-unconscious body, swallowing uncomfortably. He was too focused on his pensive thoughts to realize they made it beyond the west of Times Square, clicking Floor 5 in the elevator of Comfort Inn. A warm palm was brushing up and down his back, a fleet of goosebumps following the simple, yet soothing, touch.

 

Everything was coming out choppy to him: the noise of the crowds outside, the walk down the hallway, somebody punching the vending machine that stole their dollar… The next thing he knew, he was planted on a cheap stool, peroxide being dabbed onto his wounds and waking him up completely.

 

A weak chuckle blessed his eardrums, Lance displaying a genuinely-awkward grin. “Sorry, I’ll be as gentle as I can,” Another cotton ball was doused in the liquid invented by Satan’s reincarnated soul, the black bottle being snapped shut.

 

“Thank you…” His voice croaked out, Lance’s eyes peeling open to stare up at him. The hospital gown was pulled down from his upper torso, but was still tied around his waist – panic flooded his system, backing away from the peroxide-covered cotton that would probe the gashes all over him. “Did-did you see it?”

 

His high-pitched question was answered by a solemn nod, Lance continuing the sanitation of the other’s cuts without acknowledging the frown forming on his lips. There was a string of battered, minced skin down his spine, appearing to be a galaxy of both bruises and cuts. Keith still couldn’t contain himself from wincing each time something grazed his wounds, and he wasn’t sure exactly what was hurting him once Lance was finished stitching everything back up.

 

“Is it really love if someone would beat you like that?”

 

Words – sharper than the needles that closed his lacerations, sent chills down Keith’s body, his head turning to face Lance’s intense gaze.

 

“What?”

 

“Elliot did that, didn’t he? He carved his initials into the back of your shoulder,” He lit the tip of the needle on fire, sterilizing the areas where it had made contact with blood. “I don’t think that’s what real love is. You should call the police: it’s bad enough he beat you, but what if he does that to someone else? Hasn’t he… you know… _killed_ people before?”

 

A small gasp came out as a reflex, Keith wobbling over and grabbing Lance by the collar. “How the _fuck_ do you know that?! And so what – if he goes to jail, I will, too! I was a _witness_ , and I let it happen!”

 

“Shiro told me. We’re all worried, ever since you ran away.” His hands rose up in the air as a sign of defeat, Keith ferociously glaring at him until he let go of the shirt in his grasp. “I know that he’s been there for you, but he also made you the way you are now. Someone who is too scared to venture out of what they’ve known for years; too scared to let go of someone toxic. Too scared to accept that he’s a _bad person_ , even if you had good memories together.”

 

“Don’t talk about him like that.”

 

“It’s true, Keith, you just don’t want to let yourself admit it. After all, why would you call me, even after you’ve hurt me time after time?” The frenzied boy froze, his scornful expression falling to a neutral one of shock, all his attention becoming focused on Lance. “Why did you even run away in the first place, huh? Was it too scary to know that someone really did end up loving you? You know what, _fuck you_ , Keith Kogane. I can’t always pick up the pieces and mend you each time you break down-“

 

“Because you’re right.” His hand trailed down his face, making his eyes droop once the fingers reached his cheekbones. “My fear holds me back, I’m terrified of what the real world is like. And I use that to my advantage, bringing others down with me so I’m not alone. It’s disgusting; despicable. But what am I if I’m not doing this? How will I make a living working at a _stupid_ coffee shop for the rest of my life, huh?!” A wicked cackle prolonged the last few, spiteful syllables, “I’m useless without this. I make money to support myself by hacking other’s bank accounts. I make money by selling myself for hundreds per hour. It’s what I was trained to do – it’s what I do best.”

A finger poked its way into Lance’s chest, as all the bottled-up rage and pain seeped out of Keith, making his lower eyelid twitch nonstop. “Manipulation is a two-way street, and I know for damn sure that I’ve done terrible things, as well as Elliot. I don’t want to put someone who saved me from hell in jail, even if he carved the shit out of me. If he stole a kidney from me, I still wouldn’t call the police, because he protected me in the _worst_ year of my life. That’s something you will never understand, no matter how much you know about me. So can you just drop it?”

 

Silence met his zealous outburst, Lance quickly dropping the sterilized needle onto the counter before he started pacing around the kitchen. The only sounds he could make out were Pidge and Hunk in the room over, fighting over who would be player one in Mario Kart.

 

“I can’t, Keith. You should know that by now.” Fidgeting with his jeans’ front pockets, Lance averted his gaze away from the steaming boy, collecting his thoughts carefully before speaking. “It’s not healthy, being with him. What do you expect me to do if he impulsively decides to kill you, too?”

 

“It’s not about _you_ , Lance!”

 

“For once, why can’t it?!” He banged his balled fists against the refrigerator, sliding them down in a futile attempt to calm down. “Your actions have consequences, and it’ll effect not only me, but Shiro, too. Do you think he’d like to see you in the hands of someone who treats you like a piece of trash?! Dating the guy who beats you senseless? That’s not okay! It’s a recipe for disaster, no matter how you look at it!”

 

Dry skin was being torn off Keith’s bottom lip, his front teeth forcefully nibbling it to hold back the ever-familiar surge of temper from escaping. Tension was flying out into the small kitchen, the two infuriated boys doing a poor job of repressing their explosive emotions.

 

“I’m leaving, keep the room,” Lance stomped into the hotel’s bedroom, coming out with a massive backpack stuffed to the brim. “Don’t bother me, Keith. If it’s not my problem, you can deal with it on your own.”

 

Throwing the hotel’s keycard to Keith, he swiftly exited the room, slamming the hefty door shut before he could go back on his own words. Odd pangs of guilt scraped at the shaken-up boy’s insides, Keith backing up into the counter and running his palms down his clammy face. Footsteps, once loud and hastily quick on the creaky floors outside the kitchen, disappeared in a matter of seconds, isolating the tremulous exhales from any other noise.

 

Empty space engulfed Keith’s convulsing frame, rationality fading out of any possible scenario he was imagining. He questioned why he couldn’t keep himself sane around Lance, and why he always couldn’t stomach when he was the reason why the other party was in pain.

 

It never mattered when it came to fights. It never plagued his thoughts when Elliot and him would bicker from dawn to midnight.

 

Flipping the card in between his fingers, his eyes would keep switching back and forth between the door, and the abandoned sewing kit only inches away, everything progressively becoming more and more fuzzy in his vision.

 

“Shit,” His nasally voice croaked out, tears sliding down his burning-hot cheeks, Keith embracing himself to stop them from forming. Violent shivers emerged across his entire build, inhales starting to get more sharp with each breath. Once his nails gouged into his scraped knees, he remembered to slow down his panting, sealing his eyelids shut and leaning against the cupboard to his right. By curling and releasing his fists at a slow pace, a soothing sensation coexisted with the shame raging in his stomach, washing it away as time passed.

 

Idle laughter ruptured from the hallway, waking Keith up from his pity party in the kitchen.

 

“Alright, you’re fine, snap out of it.” Flicking his own wrist, he shrugged away the strain in his shoulders, focusing on his surroundings to officially eject all the negativity flooding his brain. “Okay, there’s a coffee maker. An expensive TV. Two different doorknobs – door handles? It doesn’t matter. The kit has a pair of scissors. You should probably put that back if you don’t need it anymore. One of the bolts in the door is a different color than the others-“

 

His gaze flicked back to the metallic scissors in front of him, completely absorbed in how sharp the points of the blades were. Impulsiveness buried his rationale, once again, in an avalanche of ideas, safely picking up the pair and looping his thumb and index between the two rings. Hurriedly, he sped into the bathroom, pushing back the full medicine cabinet to reveal the clean mirror.

 

Detangling all the hair behind his head, he realized how long it got over the past couple of months, instant regret coursing through his mind. Mullets don’t suit him, and he wished he could forget that cursed hairstyle overtime. Sighing to relieve himself of his worries, Keith snipped off the lengthy, wavy ends of his ‘ _mullet_ ,’ never taking his eyes off his changing reflection.

 

His free hand tousled up the long bangs he suddenly despised, chopping off the dead ends and watching it drop down to the pile of burgundy ringlets in the sink. Figuratively, _and_ seriously, Keith felt a ton of weight fall off him, relishing the new appearance he was sporting. For the small price of having a tiny breakdown.

 

With the hair dispersed across the entire sink, a part of Keith died off in his opinion – all the burdens and hindrances flushing down the drain with the dreadful persona he shed: the pseudo-Keith he pretended to be for years. The fake narcissist drifted down the drain, nothing remaining in the porcelain washbowl. Pushing the handle down, all the water ceased to cascade out the spout, making the space around him completely silent once again.

 

\--

 

Leaning against the taxi’s backseat window, Lance watched the sea of people walk by as they were stopped mid-traffic, cars honking and bikes swerving through the road’s free spaces to get further ahead. Crosby Street was to the right of the cab, the impatient boy squinting at the street signs.

 

“You know what, can you just drop me off here?” The cab driver made eye contact with Lance through the car’s rear-view mirror, bobbing his head suspiciously. Promptly swiping his credit card to pay, he popped the door open, swinging his legs out and shutting it in record timing.

 

Something was off, but Lance dodged the warning, bolting down the street. More often than not, strangers were cursing or shrieking at him whenever he bumped into them, but he was continuing without looking back, feeling the desire to run away from everyone. Everything.

 

The millions of inquiries he had repressed began to rush into his consciousness, creating a massive, pulsating headache. Even though his hands were trembling, and his head felt like it was on the verge of exploding, Lance paid neither of them any attention, too fixated on why there was a tightening phenomenon in his chest. “Fuck, what’s going on?” His senses were beginning to become strange, everything around him blurring out beyond his own self. With his thoughts raving, anything else Lance possessed was slowed down, not even realizing his own body was moving around in a panic.

 

A strong force gripped onto his shoulders, more anxiety boiling up inside of the already-distressed boy, who was frozen underneath the touch.

 

“Man, what’s your problem?” A gruff, deep voice boomed, a few bystanders curiously glancing over at the possible altercation. “Oi, look at me when I’m talking to you. Are you deaf?”

 

“I’m not _fucking_ deaf,” Tearing the foreign hands off him, Lance spun his head around to see who was bothering him, a perilous mix of emotions surfacing once they both realized who the other person was.

 

The terrifying man had a disturbing grin showcased, Lance wondering why his canines were more sharp than any carnivore he’s ever seen. “Shit, if it isn’t the man of the hour! Lance… Ramirez, right? A fuckin’ small town _Chico_ like you is in the city!” Leaning forward, Elliot’s face was too close in the other’s vicinity – enough for him to witness the irises darken with ill intentions, the bottom lid twitching as his expression contorted into a condescending one. “What’s a _pequeño hombre_ like you doing here?”

 

Scrunching his nose, Lance stared down the patronizing asshole in front of him, hatred intensifying on both ends. “It’s _hombre pequeño_ , first of all, idiot.” Clenching his fists tightly, the skin on top of his knuckles became ghastly pale, “Also, leave me the fuck alone. I want nothing to do with you.”

 

“That’s too bad,” The pad of Elliot’s thumb smooshed against the area between Lance’s furrowed brows, “Because we have a lot to discuss. How’s my sloppy seconds doing?”

 

A trigger was flipped on, and the split second before his resentment took control, Lance felt genuine fear for Elliot – also, for himself.

 

_“I’m just saying, it’s not something I can take pride in. Imagine having all your co-workers asking about your family,  
and never having anything positive to say. It’s **disappointing** , to say the least.”_

_“You’re **disgusting** , Lance Ramirez.”_

_“Are you **crazy**?”_

_“Personally, I believe you might be **bipolar** , Lance.”_

The familiar _crack_ echoed in his eardrums, his fists barreling into Elliot’s face without a trace of constraint behind each strike. Lance didn’t hear the woeful shrieks emerging from his stinging throat, or the insults coming from the bloody mouth underneath him.

 

Elliot managed to shove Lance on the bottom instead, his hands encasing the throbbing throat that still moved with each scream the frenzied boy made. Rugged nails clawed at the paler one’s cheeks, dead skin lodging itself underneath the bedding of each one dragging down the sharp jaw. Lance’s right pinky smacked Elliot’s left eye shut, squeezing the eyebrow bone hard enough for the other brawler to yelp in agony, choking the neck even harder as a reflex.

 

Spectators were recording the whole quarrel, some eyewitnesses calling others to come watch along with them. One in particular covered their lips whilst speaking on the phone, squinting at the two fighters and the street signs.

 

“You… you’re sick!” Elliot’s free hand pawed at the two tanned ones scratching at him, swatting them away only for a knee to be shoved into his abdomen. Reflexively, he cowered away from the dangerous figure, who crawled out from his weakened straddle.

 

A bottle of cologne was swiftly taken out from his backpack, Lance spraying the unsuspecting boy’s face without a care in the world. “Fucking – damn, that stings!” Rubbing the impaired eyes of his, Elliot’s defense was completely gone, and he didn’t notice the foot looming closer until it knocked him down, squashing itself into his ribs. All the oxygen in his lungs was immediately expelled, an excruciating pain throbbing at his insides once his bones were cracked, one by one, by the formidable, petrifying boy towering over him.

 

“Monster!” A weak, throaty wheeze flowed into Lance’s ears, who snapped back to reality from the comment. It took a few seconds for him to comprehend what was happening, eyes centering in on the bruised, bleeding, and barely-breathing man thrashing under his shoe, Lance gasping and walking back from the scene. Series of vicious coughs and desperate pants hurled out of the suffering fellow, rolling over on his side and carefully wrapping his arms around his stomach.

 

Bulging eyes were ogling at Elliot’s every action, Lance falling to the dirty concrete in disbelief. “No, no…”

 

“You si…” He paused to hack up some blood in his mouth, along with a tooth that fell out from the series of wicked punches earlier. “Sick bastard!”

 

Sirens were wailing nearby, the onlookers scurrying away from the fight in lieu of not getting in trouble. Everything was too much of a shock to Lance, who was paralyzed in his spot on the ground, absorbing how much damage and carnage he single-handedly done. Red was staining the cracks in the sidewalk’s concrete, the tooth having made it far enough to be stuck between two cobblestones in the road.

 

“Go away…” Elliot crooked his head to glare at Lance, who was confined to the same position by the stoplight. “Hurry, dickhead… go. Before the other dicks get here-” Even though he continued to cough and carp in agony, his thumb pointed in the direction where the police horns were quickly approaching.

 

“But-“

 

“Leave before I shove my tooth up your ass!” His body hurriedly sat up, causing his teeth to grit and grind from how severe the pain was. Nonetheless, Elliot stood up, stumbling away from the crime scene at an alarming rate, kicking Lance to get off his butt, too.

 

Nyma was the first person who he could think of, imagining what she would say in this situation. Nyma – in her tangled dreadlocks from when he last met her, skin morbidly white. Wearing that harrowing, dismal visage the entire visit, as if she was eaten alive by her choices.

 

“I don’t want that…”

 

Jittery, he stood up from the floor, purposely avoiding the red blemishes and cuts dispersed across his hands. Instead, he followed the same path that Elliot did, speeding up with each step forward down the sidewalk. All his energy was spent on getting himself out of legal trouble, and how he is doing the right thing. How logic is better than emotions; how he should get the hell out of there, and then sort through his hurricane of feelings afterwards.

 

Lance remembered Shiro’s lessons on probability, and how it’s either a zero, or one. To him, the _him_ of the moment, he believed that his insanity was definitely at one – there was no more denying it. He brutally beat up someone without any shred of remorse in doing so, nearly killing him.

 

“No, think of the good times you had. Good things.”

 

His friends, which were halfway across the East Coast, took top priority. All the memories with Rolo, who made him binge watch more shows than he could remember. And how he could only recall specific aspects of those plots before they moved onto another. And how those days would consist of greasy pizza and an unhealthy amount of caffeine.

 

Or how Shay was always there to make him laugh and appreciate the small things in life. How she helped him learn how to drive without panicking at every curve and hill in the road. And the way there was always dimples in her cheeks, whether she was speaking, frowning, or giggling nonstop. And the horrendous hangovers they endured together at school, along with the epic breakfasts Rax would reluctantly make – the two called them the ‘Hangover Hungries.’ It was embarrassing at first to hear it, but the phrase stuck to Lance like a tattoo.

 

Allura, and the way she was always unpredictable. The time she made Lance try on the dress she was working on making, and how the seams fell apart because she confused the sizing with an extra small rather than a medium – Lance never figured out how she could confuse them, but accepted it anyways. Or how she dyed the tips of Lance’s hair indigo before cutting his hair, and how the cheap dye tinted her hands for a week even if she did wear gloves. And the countless times she would burst out a spot-on rap of every song the radio would play, as if she was a database full of music and the arts. That was probably why she hated math so much.

 

Cold droplets poured down from the cloudy sky, but Lance advanced forward, no matter how drenched his clothes and bag got from the summer showers. Dozens of umbrellas were popping open, making the rain rebound and ricochet off the plastic canopy.

 

Elliot, who stopped limping, was speaking to someone under a black umbrella, the unknown person making him flinch once their mouth opened to say something. Lance was far away from the two, but he could make out the hand gestures from both parties, along with the pout forming on Elliot’s lips as the anonymous individual flicked them off, turning away from the astonished boy.

 

Ripped, charcoal-grey jeans were on the stranger’s legs, similar to a pair that Lance himself owned a while ago. The hem of a baggy shirt was becoming visible as the person got closer, the NASA logo being revealed as the umbrella was lifted further in the air.

 

In fact, both of those belonged to Lance at one time.

 

Widening his eyes, Lance jogged down the pavement, water splashing against his ankles whenever his heel made contact with a puddle. Umbrella-man continued to search for something in the midst of nameless outsiders and apartments, the recognizable Zelda phone case somewhat blurry in the downpour.

 

 “Keith!”

 

A head was now visible underneath the parasol, a surprising fresh haircut adorning the features of their face. “Lance?” Relief flushed over their expression, deliberately hurrying forward, meeting halfway down the asphalt to where the other was stopping. “What happened to you? There’s blood all over you…”

 

“Um…” Rubbing his finger shyly underneath his nose, Lance checked if Keith was visibly curious to know, and was greeted with hands gently slapping themselves onto his cheeks, bringing him underneath the dark brolly.

 

“I know you got into a fight with Elliot, that much I can figure out. But are you okay? Did he do anything else to you? I swear, I will-“

 

Worrisome giggles emerged from his sore throat, halting Keith’s incoming threats midway through. “I’m fine, I really am,” Scratching at his cuticles, Lance mulled over what he should say next, wondering how he should explain what happened. “I… I think I’m bipolar, Keith.”

 

The soft countenance fell instantly on the smaller boy’s mien, gawking at the nervous one in front of him. “What do you mean?”

 

Swallowing down the word vomit, Lance’s anxious expression transitioned into a solemn one instead, pretending that he was calm and okay with the epiphany. “I think I might be bipolar, and I’ve been dealing with it for a while now. I’ve been in denial about everything – about us, about my family, about my depression, about being bipolar. About the truth.” His breath hitched at the final word, as he decided to take a break from talking to recollect himself, exhaling out the suspense that comes with confessions.

 

“In fact, I think this might be the real reason why I don’t get along well with my family. I’m stupid, I’m bisexual, I’m constantly sad – yes, but the fact that I can’t control my emotions reflects back on everyone else. And – and they already _have_ a kid that has mental issues, you know? It’s like it was a choice meant for someone who is the leftover child, just to make them special in the worst way possible.”   
  
Rubbing circles around the discovered hangnail, Lance refused to show any signs of the building anguish he was dealing with, curling the corner of his lip slyly. “It’s suffocating to be this way, always walking on broken glass and landmines that can detonate extreme anger or sadness. And it just happened again… I didn’t even know I was fighting Elliot until it was over, his body ducking in pain and having violent coughing fits… I’m not okay with that. It’s terrifying to me, _I_ terrify _me_.”

 

“…. Let’s get you back to the hotel first, and then go on from there.” Keith genuinely smiled at an appalled Lance, letting his palms fall to his sides. “I’ll help you anyway I can, it’s the least I can do. Is that alright with you?”

 

“O-of course!” His hands shook rapidly in the air, chuckles erupting from the redhead only centimeters away from him. Without any speech, the two unanimously decided to head back to Comfort Inn, a comfortable silence filling up any needless awkwardness between them.

 

Until the inevitable question was blurted out from Lance: “So, why did you do that to your hair?”  
  


“Hmm… it was honestly an impulsive decision, but I guess I just needed to change something in my life. Or, at least, start a change.” His eyes suddenly squinted, tilting his head to look at Lance with suspicion. “Why, do you not like it?”

 

“I can dig it.”

 

\--

 

“Your laptop is a piece of shit.”

 

“Thanks. They say that someone’s stuff resembles the owner.”

 

Keith rolled his head onto the top of the couch, staring at Lance as if he was behaving even more ludicrous than usual. The computer was safely secured on his lap, the fifth tab on the browser being a site for some psychiatrists near Cañon City, Colorado.

 

Brewing another cup of coffee, Lance strolled around aimlessly, every so often stopping by the loveseat to observe what Keith was doing online. “I appreciate your help, I’m way too scared to do things like this for myself.”

 

“Lance, it’s the least I can do to help, and I truly do think that getting professional guidance would be a game changer for you.”

 

The chapped lips of his developed into a closed grin, pouring two cups of coffee in the disposable mugs the hotel provided. “Here, take another dosage of caffeine for the day, if you aren’t sick of working around coffee twenty-four and seven.”

 

A full-blown, cheesy smirk greeted Lance back, his heart fluttering once he realized that Keith’s nose would crinkle a bit with real smiles. “I doubt I could ever get tired of coffee, even if everyone sucks ass there and I hate how sweet it is,” Looping his three middle digits around the cup, he scooted over to make more room for Lance to sit down, positioning the laptop just right so the both of them could perfectly see it. “Okay, so from what I could access online, there aren’t any psychiatrists available in your town, but there’s some nearby. How far would you mind going?”

 

“Hmm… I think there might be others that aren’t registered online, so I guess for now I’ll list them out – where is the farthest?”

 

“Denver, I guess, from what’s here…”

 

“Yeah, not happening. It’ll take forever to get out of there,” Gulping a huge amount of coffee, Lance leaned further into Keith’s vicinity to read the names off the provided catalog of psychiatrists, nearly crossing all of them out. “I guess the first three are good for now.”

 

Prolonging a sigh, Keith shut the laptop down after Lance took a photo of all the names, staring down the jolly, battered-up boy besides him. Without noticing, his hand entwined itself with the tanned one coated in cuts and bruises, rosiness splashing across the other’s cheeks in only a matter of seconds.

 

“I missed you so much.”

 

The pair of ocean-blue eyes enlarged from the blurted-out comment, an indescribable fondness taking over every single feature on the mocha-brown face. “Me too,” Flipping over Keith’s palm, Lance lightly traced hearts and figure eights across the entire surface, confusion boiling up inside the surprised mind of the receiving party. “Even though your nose is broken from Pidge decking you the hell out, and I don’t even want to know how fucked up my face is right now, I seriously think it’s fate that we met like this again. It’s been troublesome… pretending to be over you.”

 

Guiding the pasty hand to his lips, Lance placed a soft peck on the twitching bones where the phalanges met the metacarpals, shivers soaring down the black-and-blue back of his in fleets. “That tickles.”

 

“How could I forget that you’re ticklish?” Lance whispered, his tender gaze fixated on the visible blue veins in the webbed spaces between each finger of Keith’s. “I’m doing it on purpose… if you don’t mind.”

 

“Of course I don’t.”

 

 Instead of lust, a foreign hunger bloomed in Keith’s frigid heart, gently pushing Lance down on the couch and observing him from above. Pinky-to-pinky, the two pairs of hands were interlocked, legs tangling up once he rolled over onto his side. Both noses were rubbing against each other from how little room there was on the hotel’s couch, tiny pants of breath chilling the two lips.

 

“I love you so much, even if it fucking hurts to no end.” Lance moved his head downwards, making their foreheads touch like they did in every single kiss the two shared in the past. “You’re beautiful, no matter how many times you felt that you weren’t.”

 

A flustered, nervous chuckle eased into the tan boy’s eardrums, “Stop it…”

 

“No, really. Everything is colorful when you’re around, whether I want it to be or not. And my skin feels like it’s on fire whenever you touch me, along with the roller coaster of butterflies in my stomach dropping. Well, it’s more like I’m free-falling backwards… and then – then the electric shocks whenever you and I have-“

 

“You don’t even know how much _love_ I have had hidden for you, and you think of me like that? Even if I’ve been the root of your problems this entire year? …You’re a fool to fall for someone like me.”

 

“Hey, look at me,” Lance shifted around until he rested his head on the loveseat’s arm, Keith’s focus already trailing up to his every move. “Did you just say that, or is this some fever dream I’m having again from passing out? Because I’m honestly shaken up right now and might squeal like a child from excitement.”

 

The fact that he admitted his feelings out loud didn’t register until Lance stared at the spot where his heart would be, heat flushing his face a ridiculous shade of red. “U-uh, well, you see…”

 

“No way.” Lance released his grasp on the others’ hands, wrapping his arms around the tremulous body adjacent to him. On the other side of the spectrum, a sense of fear emerged from the crumbling walls Keith built around his true feelings: this entire moment was uncharted territory, and he never accepted, nor confessed, any affection he possessed for years.

 

His rationale knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t be rejected, but he still held onto that small possibility that he could – love made him feel emotionally naked, and dangerously vulnerable, just like the time they met in the communal bathroom at work.

 

The thumb dragging across his bottom lip made dopamine explode in his brain, a bristly phenomenon surging onto the pink skin being touched. Never, not once in his life, did Keith experience this level of emotional intimacy – not with Elliot, and most certainly not during work back in Floral City. It was scary, yet exciting, and madly stimulating in a literal regard. Oxytocin bombarded each nook and cranny of his head, progressively becoming more and more aroused.

 

Absolutely drowning in his libido, Keith opened his mouth a bit to trap Lance’s thumb, timidly sucking on the smooth skin beyond his nail.

 

“Two can play at this game,” Lance’s gruff voice turned some switch on in Keith, who inched even closer to the warm body. The two, who were competitive in practically everything, eased themselves into a battle of kissing – Lance grazed his teeth against the left right earlobe in front of him, Keith moving on to suck on the exposed spot on Lance’s neck. Ultimately, Keith was the victor in the brawl: his tongue licked the area where Lance’s upper lip began to fold inwards, immediately initiating the first French kiss they ever had.

 

Strikes of electricity, just like Lance stated before, afflicted the areas that were being touched during the kiss, Keith not being able to contain himself any longer. Passion was flowing up and down his capillaries as he explored underneath Lance’s shirt, brushing the cold palms against the chest that flattened from the last time he saw it. He figured he’d ask later about why Lance lost a ton of weight, since the mood was completely polarized from being the perfect setting for a confrontation.

 

Cheekily, Lance unbuttoned the tight jeans Keith wore, a shocked gasp coming from the other end. “Trying to get into my pants, huh?”

 

“More like, trying to get you out of those pants,” Lance’s voice dripped in ecstasy, hands swooping down the black boxers Keith wore and squeezing both cheeks to get a reaction from the crazed boy. The front teeth of Keith’s bit down onto Lance’s bottom lip, who felt hips buckle up underneath his suggestive touch. A string of obscenities were hissed out from the shorter one, who hurriedly stripped himself of the constricting jeans expertly.

 

Lance was watching Keith carefully, who pushed him back onto the edge of the couch, making room for himself between the spread-out, long legs. “Let’s try something different,” He lolled his head backwards enough to make out Lance’s excited nodding, backing himself up even more until he was safely perched against the thin thighs.

 

Without any warning, he began to grind against the boy underneath him, slowly reaching behind to grab Lance’s hand and direct it towards his hips. Confidence oozed out from the redhead, who put all his effort into giving the best lap dance he ever could to his astonished partner. The rough clutches at his waist only made him feel even more self-assured, leaning back enough to be supported by the rapidly-moving chest behind him.

 

Heavy, hitched breaths mixed with soft moans coming from the two, the friction from grinding against Lance’s jeans making his thighs radiate even more heat. “ _Lance_ …” A sensual grunt rode out of Keith once he could feel the boner probing out underneath him, the burning touch of hands scooting down to dance against the sides of his thighs, all the way until they sneakily dipped in between both legs, twirling the boxers upwards to reveal the freckled loins. The teasing palms raced back to the smooth skin of the inner thigh, right before it reached the groin.

 

“Say it again,” Lips tickled against the protruding shoulder bone, Keith humming from the desperate need coating each syllable. The five-letter name was exhaled slowly, the grumble coming from Lance’s chest being felt against the upper-middle back pressed against it. “Turn over.” The demand he was waiting for made the playful boy beam slyly, swinging himself over the clothed legs and absorbing how dark Lance’s pupils became.  A road of kisses was planted against Keith’s neck, continuing agonizingly slow to his jawbone and behind the ear. The receiver was drowning in love and lust, thrusting unhurriedly on the warm bulge waiting for him.

 

Lance shifted underneath the turned-on boy, unzipping his jeans and pulling down his underwear with them. Without any need to communicate, Keith snaked his arms around the thin neck trembling with each pant and moan, letting the single brown palm clasp both erections together, dashing downwards, upwards, sideways and diagonally without missing a beat.

 

The two buried their heads in the crook of the neck of the other person, Keith giving Lance a slew of hickeys in the process to hold back his unstoppable grousing. Names, grunts, curses, and strange noises were traveling through the entire room, the high-pitched squeals and gasps bouncing off the walls, nearly echoing back. Excitement was coming down in downpours, Keith’s innards jittering more and more each second. _More_.

 

One last smack on the ass made his eyes widen, instantly crying out and shuddering violently as he fell against the sturdy body keeping him from passing out. “Shit, Lance, s- “Another wince came from the raging orgasm he had, Lance watching in curiosity and amazement. The same uncontrollable tremors emerged from the taller boy, leaning the back of his head on the couch’s arm once again to let everything take its course.

 

An overjoyed snicker vibrated against his collarbone, Keith resting his cheek against the exhausted body. “You wore me out…” He gazed up at Lance, who was too drained to even speak, but bobbed his head in agreement. Instead of their countenances, the afflicted bruises against the their upper torso were from adoration and salacity, making a blast of colors shroud their frames. “You know, I’m thinking about getting another- “Keith’s commentary was met with snores, his expression falling in record timing from disappointment.

 

\--

 

Furious yells made Lance shoot up from his slumber, searching for the source of the screams. “Liana? Is that you?” His vision was poor from the crust coating his eyelashes, rubbing the gunk off tiredly so he could see what was going on.

 

“Morning. It’s just Pidge and Hunk next door playing Super Smash Bros.”

 

“Hmmm…” Lance drowsily nodded, falling back down in lieu of catching more sleep.

 

“Nu-uh, you’ve been asleep for eleven hours already! You’re still undressed!” Keith tore off the blanket he wrapped Lance in the previous night, mutters and mumbling erupting from the sleepy boy. “Excuse me?”

 

“ _Hnnff mmmslp_ …”

 

A hard flick was pressed against the sweaty forehead, Lance’s eyelids peeling open to accept the misery of being awake this early. “You’re literally making no sense, get up. I made some vegan pancakes, the milk was so expensive at the store so just deal with the taste for now.”

 

“The fuck are vegan pancakes?”

 

“I don’t even remember. I just looked up a recipe for non-dairy pancakes and landed there.”

 

“Sounds gross.”

 

“Then starve.”

 

Lance squinted at the fully-awake boy trudging into the kitchen, taking a bite of the oddly colored pancakes without flinching one bit. Even though he griped for a good minute, he managed to stand up, slumping next to the early bird who was dazzling even in the horrendously early hours. “I’mma still eat it though.”

 

“Okay, Kanye, go make your own plate.” Keith uttered with food in his mouth, a mocking chortle coming from the lethargic zombie traipsing to the stove. Music was softly crooning from somewhere in the room, Lance’s inquiring mind making him look around for the source of it. “ ‘S something wrong?”

 

“Is it just me, or is music playing?”

 

Keith snorted, cheerily swinging around in his seat to show Lance the playlist on his phone. “It’s my bomb ass mixtape.”

 

“… I don’t know if I should take this as a joke or not.”

 

“I’m being serious.” The two stared each other down in disbelief, Lance managing to flop the suspicious pancake onto a plate without even blinking. “It’s not even that bad, I’m sure you’d like it if you wanted to listen. I swear there is no country on there.”

 

“You mean the devil’s music?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Keith slid the phone over to the judgmental critic, resuming eating the foreboding pancake in silence. Despite being stubborn, Lance decided to plop himself down next to the quiet boy, multitasking by cutting the pancake into six sections and scrolling down to view all the songs in the playlist.  “You like _The Front Bottoms_?”

 

“Of course I do, I even saw them in concert.”

 

“Pardon me?!”

 

“Yeah, a few months ago when we went to Texas and I showcased your painting, I snuck into their concert. It was totally worth it.”

 

Whistling in surprise, Lance shoved the forkful of pancake in his mouth, shocked by how it actually tasted pretty good. “Speaking of the painting, what ever happened to it?”

 

Keith lifted his index finger up to signal that he wants Lance to wait, getting up from his seat and rushing over to where his bag was. The painting, although it has seen better days, was taken out from the duffel bag, and placed on top of the counter. “Hold on a second, I hope you won’t think it’s disgusting…”

 

Puzzled, Lance furrowed his eyebrows, trying to figure out why Keith was hurriedly taking his shirt off. As the suddenly-thrilled boy spun around, a wave of bewilderment intruded into Lance’s mind, ogling at the rawness that came from the full-back tattoo of the painting.

 

“I… I didn’t want to be reminded of what happened with Elliot, so I scheduled an early appointment yesterday. It was sort of an abrupt decision, you know, to get your artwork tattooed, but it just seemed right at the time. Do you like it?”

 

Lance jumped off the stool to ruffle up Keith’s bedhead even more, a full-blown grin delving into his blemished cheeks. “Idiot, I love it.” A quick smooch was placed on Keith’s forehead, Lance’s smile growing even more once he heard the beats of his favorite _The Cure_ song being blasted, even though it was one of the covers instead of the original. “You make me feel like I am home again…” Dragging Keith along with him, he made sure that he didn’t touch the sore back as they slow danced to the rhythm, a genuine simper blessing his soul once again.

 

He felt pretty damn special, falling in love with someone who would make him vegan pancakes and dance along with him in the middle of a hotel’s kitchen. Keith was definitely his _one_ out of a world of _zeroes_ , and he hoped that it was the same for Keith.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE FROM LAST TIME:   
> YA GIRL PASSED HER SATS BUT THEY WERE KINDA LOW FOR ME (1120) BUT THATS OKAY. SORRY FOR TAKING FOREVER TO GET THIS DONE I'VE BEEN ON SERIOUS WRITER'S BLOCK THE PAST MONTH AND IT'S KILLING MEMEMEMEMEEEEEEEE LO SIENTOOOOOOOOOO
> 
> also hell yea i made troye sivan references in this entire chapter and nobody can stop me from doing so again 
> 
> also x2 i have nothing against vegans im just SHOOK AF bc i didnt realize that vegan pancakes were a thing until like five hours ago??? thats so cOOL kinda tempted to try them even though im not big on breakfast food to begin with. alright the rambling is done, adios


	12. TWELVE: The Idea of Growing Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hell fuCKING YEAH THIS IS BASED ON HELLA CHEESY LOVE SONGS DONT JUDGE ME   
> highly recommend you listen to "Something I Need" & "The Idea of Growing Old" while reading the end bc hella cheesy hella cute and hella quick but yanno what ITS DONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick-paced because i ended up picturing this like a tv episode again (so used to writing screenplays) but iT WORKS OKAY   
> there might also be a possible epilogue??? idk yet but MOST LIKELY 
> 
> *trigger warnings: mentions of blood and sex 
> 
> in which there is confrontations, red is not pidge's color, comic relief, lance please control your driving, obligatory mcdonalds scene, keith is sorry™, shiro is such a mom-dad tbh love him, mysterious white haired boy is NAMED after like eleven chapters, trees are a thing, and i love sappy moments so the ending is sweeter than sugar i got a cavity writing it s2g 
> 
> ENJOY THE FAST-PACED SHITTY LAST CHAPTER DONT HATE ME BC THIS BOOK GOT PROGRESSIVELY WORSE AS TIME WENT ON AND I APOLOGIZE FOR BEING LAZY

Zipping noises were coming from all around the hotel room, Keith helping Lance pack up everything at the last minute. A bitter sensation clawed at the fragile heart of his, watching Lance rush around the place to load up his items into the huge bags he had: maybe it was another caffeine overdose so he wouldn’t miss work, or maybe it was the dread of Lance leaving to go check out upstate with his _odd_ friends without him.

 

“So yeah, Pidge wants to check out Potsdam and is quite keen on Canada. I honestly don’t know why, maybe because they have Trudeau fever, but it sounds like a cool place. Hopefully the drive up there won’t be bad,” Lance quickly spoke with each step he made, jogging back and forth between the connected rooms in the rented space. “Then it’s back to Colorado, and I’ll probably be meeting up with my family again. I hope Fran comes back home to see me…”

 

“I’m pretty sure he will, he seemed like the nicest out of your siblings.”

 

Keith’s blurted comment made the frenzied-boy freeze in his tracks, squinting at the confused fellow leaning against the counter, staring into blank space. “How do you know them?”

 

“Didn’t you remember? I came home from Korea as quick as I could and visited you, so ultimately, I ran into them. Your dad’s really not that great compared to your grandfather – oh, no offense, though.”

 

“You visited me?! I had no clue! I just thought you came in pity that one time-“

“The time you blew me off?”

“… Let’s not talk about that.”

Stuffing the wrinkled shirts into the packed carry-on, he swooped his two arms through the straps in a hurry, shuffling into the bathroom to double check that he put everything away, or discarded what he didn’t need for the ride upstate. A lengthy sigh was eased out once he stared at the reflection in the dirty, smudged mirror, focusing on the whole body he had rather than one.

 

He did lose a lot of weight this past year, and it was starting to make his features appear more prominent, yet hollowed-out: the puffy cheeks he once had, that enhanced each grin he wore and each laugh he rumbled out, were no longer showing. As asinine as his choices were, he realized that no matter what he does to himself, he wouldn’t feel comfortable in his skin until he accepts himself first, and in hindsight – that would not be achievable in his current state of mind.

 

Locking the hurricane of self-deprecation away in the back of his mind, he let one of his fingers traced the outline of his figure on the glass, weirdly entranced by the shape of his face. Particularly, the still-broken nose of his, along with the array of wounds and scars clashing together, all displayed on the dark skin. “Did you starve yourself after I left?”

 

The unforeseen voice made him audibly gasp, attention shifting to the person in the corner of the mirror. “That’s not… it’s not because of you leaving.”

 

“Is it because you’re depressed?”

 

Even though Keith tried to make it seem as gentle as possible, the phrase still came out blunt and graceless, the content expression visibly falling into a peculiar frown. “It’s because I didn’t care about anything relating back to my health after I just… gave up, you can say. I put all my energy into work and school, skipping my meds and eating if it was needed. Being with my grandfather was the breaking point for me, and I let myself drown by my own hands this time, so there’s no need to feel bad or worried. I’m… I’m going to get better.”

 

“Please take care of yourself, Lance. Not just for me – or your friends & family, but for yourself,” Keith whispered, slowly wrapping his arms around the slender waist in front of him, and placing his chin on the sharp shoulder above him. “Take your meds once you get there, and spam me with photos, too. I want to hear about how your day will be, even if it’s just complete shit. I’ll listen whenever, wherever.”

 

A tiny nod came from the hugged boy, curling his toes inside the tightly-tied sneakers from relief. The amount of attention, and affection, he was receiving was uncharted territory for him, but the fact that it came from the boy he was pining after for such a long time made the awkwardness fade away.

 

\--

 

Gazing at the still-raw and battered-up back of his, Keith’s nose scrunched up in disappointment from the sudden decision to get a tattoo, all his wounds stinging even more than before he got inked. Even though the artwork meant a lot to him, it felt strange to be wearing something permanently from someone he hurt countless times in the past.

 

All the guilt blighting his soul was rising to the surface now, the corners of both eyes twitching while he glared at his own reflection. His bags were completely packed up, having to sneak back into Elliot’s hotel room to get the rest of his clothes and chargers. The two had a cordial conversation for once – which was a surprisingly enjoyable discussion for Keith, and went separate ways on their own accord.

 

Officially breaking up with the toxic boyfriend he had for years felt like he shed a thousand pounds of dead skin: the burdens that he carried were no longer there, and he was finally able to move on.

 

Brushing off the negative thoughts of his, Keith pulled his baggy shirt back down to normal length, rubbing away the wrinkles on the sleeve while exiting the handicapped bathroom. Multiple languages were being spoken in the huge restroom the airport had, males of unknown ages laughing and speaking loudly at the urinals. One thing he knew from his travels was that foreigners that have the same first language click instantly, whether it was in some obscure café, at some trashy pub, or in the middle of a public bathroom. And that never failed to put a smile on his face.

 

The wheels of his suitcase clanked onto the sticky tiles of the airport, quickly heading over to the terminal where his flight would be. Families were amazed by the souvenirs in all the cheap stores, little kids chasing their siblings around and irritating the employees to no end. For Keith, his days of being annoyed were finally over after working at that shitty coffee shop in the city, and he wished to never meet another lumberjack-looking hipster ever again. His eyes made contact with one of the plenty of Starbucks in the JFK airport, grinding his molars to control the amount of agitated memories flooding his mind.

 

“Think about something else, for Christ’s sake…” Keith muttered to himself, scaring the flight attendants away from his general vicinity. He bid them a final scowl before taking a seat by the window, pushing the lady’s suitcase out of the way: if nobody was physically sitting there, he could care less if luggage was already placed on top of the worn-down chair.

 

Scooting all the way back, he leaned his head backwards until it touched the chilly glass, tuning out all the pointless noise clashing in the room. The previous flight was almost fully unloaded, Keith glancing over once the attendants began talking to one another – the plane would be flying down to Orlando, and he was never this ready to go back home. No matter how grand his travels were, his homesickness won over in the end, nothing beating the shitty, small town in Florida that he thought he despised.

 

Before he could shake off his nerves about flying, a buzz vibrated in his back pocket, Keith awkwardly shifting in his seat to get it without having to stand up. There was a small quiver coursing through his index and middle finger while unlocking the phone, reading the message that the familiar white-haired boy sent. A photo was attached to the suggestive message, a few hundred-dollar bills being waved around by the older man he remembered fighting with.

“ _You free tonight_?”

 

\-- 

“As much as I’d really like some merch from here, red is not my color… I’m more of a green person.”

 

“More like a green gremlin-“

 

“Or Mike Wazowski.”

 

“Shut up, Lance and Hunk.”

 

Pidge’s two hands slapped both boys in the face, Lance stumbling back from the sudden impact of their iron-like fists. Potsdam seemed to be the college they liked the most, particularly because of the cost of tuition for out-of-state residents being lower than NYU – although they were on the track for receiving a dozen of scholarships.

 

The trio lurked around the front of the building, not sure on what to do next: they toured the entire campus except for the dorms’ actual rooms, and Lance’s feet were on fire from being used too much in such crappy shoes. He made a mental note on getting his foot size checked again the next time he went to the mall.

 

Most of the students were staying at home for the summer, the three only seeing a record-breaking number of fifty-two kids in the past fifteen hours around the campus. “So… where do you guys want to go next? We still have a ton of money left.” Hunk plopped down onto the dewy grass, snuggling his head on top of his knees.

 

“Well, don’t you prefer the South? We haven’t got down there yet.”

 

“That’s true…” Hunk pursed his lips, squinting his eyes in thought. “Hey, Lance, where did you live again? Ocala? Tampa?”

 

“Floral City.” The two who had no experience with the true South were both squinting at him, Lance snickering from the confusion expressed on their faces. “It’s close to Ocala – why, you’re thinking about living in Satan’s Armpit? The Australia of the United States?”

 

Hunk shrugged in thought, puffing his cheeks out before he could refute the subtle insult, “I mean, it’s worth a shot. Probably not going to decide to go there, but it’ll be cool to check it out! Plus, you can introduce us to your friends-“

 

“And I can beat the shit out of that asshole who you call ‘grandfather,’” Pidge’s evil intentions shined through their famous smirk, Lance rolling his eyes at the brutal friend of his. It’s always the shortest friend that has the most wicked temper, Pidge perfectly molding into the ‘small but mighty’ trope.

 

Even if they were a group of unconventional people, the three somehow managed to defy the odds of hating each other and ended up becoming a dysfunctional family instead. “We’re literally in upstate New York, it’s going to take hours to reach Florida if we drive. And I thought we were going back home after this, anyways – whatever happened to that plan?”

 

“Living like Larry, my innocent comrade….” Pidge wrapped their arms around Lance and Hunk’s necks, rocking them back and forth on the ground. “I say we go, and if Hunk wants to, that means you have to come along or stay stranded here.” The compelling argument was enough to make the unsure boy reluctantly agree, Pidge and Hunk high-fiving to celebrate their unfair victory.

 

Florida was their final destination for the college road trip, even if it would take roughly an entire day to reach the place of broken dreams. Deep down, Lance was slightly excited to go back, since Keith told him that he was going back to live in Floral City until he found another place he was comfortable in.

 

Hunk and Pidge were all giddy on the wet ground, taking multiple pictures and spamming their friends about their trip so far, and what’s to come. However, Lance was sulking as he swayed his phone in his hand, pouting from no messages showing up on the home screen. “I wonder what he’s doing…”

 

**-**

Flicking the lights off in his bedroom, Keith spun around to face the cousin of his ex, the practically-fluorescent white head of hair visible in the dark room. “High Enough” roared across the room, a pair of pale hands reaching out to take Lance’s shirt off his body, and discarding it across the floor. Cigarette stench flushed out the comforting smell that came with Lance’s clothes, an overwhelming sense of shame and disgrace cascading down on the nervous boy.

 

“Watch my back, you asshole.”

 

The mischievous grin on the older man’s mouth was hidden in the lightless room, but the two communicated by touch rather than sight, Keith pushing the violent customer back onto the disheveled bed. His entire backside was on fire from the plenitude of bruises on his skin, but wherever the man touched his frame was icy cold, the usual uneasiness flooding his system.

 

Keith hasn’t felt this vile in such a long time, but the thought of money was clouding his judgement – just like every time before. Why was this any different than before? Why should it interfere with his life? Sex is just sex: nothing more, nothing less. Nonetheless, the awfully-shameful feeling gnawed at his heart that refused to agree with his brain, nausea making him even more sick with each caress he got.

 

Rough, peeling lips were pressed against the spot behind his ear, goosebumps surfacing from the purest disgust for the lustful contact. Shifting his focus onto the stack of cash already placed on his dresser, Keith leaned into the touch of the white-haired client, whose fingers hastily dragged the zipper down on both their jeans. He continued his attempts at convincing himself that he isn’t making a terrible decision, trying to justify the situation in any possible way he could.

 

It was too late, though – there was the unpleasant sound of skin slapping into him before he realized it, and any rationalization he was imagining flew straight out of his mind. What’s the point when it’s already happening?

 

**-**

Speeding down the mountain road, Hunk and Pidge shrieked in the back seat as Lance recklessly drove, releasing his stress by going way above the recommended speed limit. _Coldplay_ hummed in the mix of screams and heavy wind blowing through the opened windows, the adrenalized driver tapping his fingers on the wheel to the song’s beat. The thought of seeing his friends made him extremely excited to go back, but the risk of running into his grandfather, and the white witch that suffocates herself in tobacco, was making his anxiety double by the second. Gradually, the slope of the road got even more steep, Pidge and Hunk holding onto each other and reciting every prayer they could remember so they could stay semi-sane.

 

“S-sl- _slow down_ , you demon! There’s sti-still eighteen hours left of this shi- “The car quaked violently once he drove right through the bumpy road, Hunk’s gritted-teeth loudly grinding despite the gusts of wind blowing in their eardrums. “God, Lance! Stop it!”

 

“No breaks until we get down to North Carolina!” Lance lolled his head to the side, a demonic smile diving into his cheeks.

 

“I don’t want to die by getting flung into a mountain!”

 

Revving the engine even more, Lance’s horrifying cackles made the frightened kids in the back squeal in terror, the scenery appearing to just be smudges of color rather than nature. “Live fast, die young, bad girls do it well.” No more cars were on the deserted street, Lance popping his head out the window and shrilling with a newly-discovered hype. As bold as he’s been in the past, this was the most dangerous thing he’s done beyond illegally downloading music, his spirit feeding off the livelihood of being daring enough to drive above eighty miles per hour. Then ninety once the asphalt-road began to decline, and way over one hundred when they reached flat land after Potsdam.

 

Adrenaline was pumping through each cell in his body, Lance’s foot pressing even harder onto the gas pedal and zooming past all the gorgeous sights in the suburban area. As the hours passed, Pidge slowly welcomed the dauntless feeling of driving at a dangerous speed, swinging their hands in the breezy air outside the window on their left. East Brunswick was actually a pretty nice area of New Jersey, and didn’t have that strange, prominent stench of sea water and sewage like Newark did. Even Hunk was beginning to enjoy the sensation of driving recklessly, counting all the stop signs he blew through until they reached main roads.

 

“Shit, stop light ahead,” Lance complained, placing his foot on the break as heavily as possible, coming to a sudden halt and giving the trio whiplash as an aftereffect. “Sorry, my bad.” He took the time to look at his messy hair in the rear-view mirror, fixing the strands that got brushed into millions of directions due to the strong wind.

 

East Brunswick became Bel Air, then Baltimore, Fredericksburg, Emporia, and finally, Fayetteville, where the speed demon decided to stop for a true break. They managed to make it there in twelve and a half hours, the time being nine in the morning – the three were craving McDonald's, getting seven orders of fries and nuggets to share. Since they somehow made it alive to North Carolina, they weren’t going to pass up the opportunity to treat themselves after that frantic-yet-majestic ride down the East Coast.

 

The starchy-goodness made the sleep-deprived boy wake up once again, and rejuvenated the two that slept for half the drive down in broken segments. “So, there’s still about half of the ride left, who wants to drive now?”

 

“ **Definitely** not you, I had thirty mini heart attacks the entire time.” Hunk shoved his greasy finger into Lance’s right temple, who glowered at the apprehensive, bulky friend of his. “I, as someone who is expecting to live way after one hundred, think I should drive next. If it’s only going to be…” To prove his point, he paused mid-sentence and typed the town’s name into the GPS, “Approximately eight hours and seventeen minutes, with only 538 miles, I’d prefer to do it.”

 

“I second that.”

 

“Alright, alright, it’s all in your hands, my dear friend.” Lance mentally cheered, his legs still cramped up from nonstop use in such a small space. _Fitz and The Tantrums_ was still clear from outside the car, the three stretching in the packed parking lot no matter how crazy they looked to strangers.

 

Pidge threw a french fry in Lance’s direction, who ferociously bit down onto it mid-air, gaining multiple _ooo_ ’s and _aaah_ ’s from the children walking into the McDonald’s ahead of them. “Hey, have you two heard the new _Gorillaz_ songs? I actually died from each one, like this is just the ghost of me. It was life changing – life-ending? Why not both, to be honest. Noodles is my fucking _waifu_.”

 

“Who seriously uses the term ‘waifu’ in 2017?”

 

“Um, obviously the partner of Noodles, my _waifu_ ,” Pidge slapped Lance with the chicken nugget they bit into, earning a series of disgusted sounds and frowns from the germophobe wiping off the residue of saliva on his cheek. “Anyways, Hunk, we’re playing that in the car first, since I refuse to drive and it would only be _fair_ to listen to my car jams, too.”

 

“You just need an excuse to spam everyone with music on Snapchat,” Hunk mumbled while chewing four fries dipped in ketchup, Pidge not even fighting back. “I can dig that, but you got to promise me to get decent pictures of cool things while we are on the road.”

 

“You, my kind friend, got yourself a deal.”

 

Another powerful high-five was exchanged between the duo, Lance fondly watching his friends enjoy the entire trip just on their own. Whether it was his anxiety that made him think that way, or the fact that he was gone for almost an entire year, tied back into why Hunk and Pidge seem closer than ever before. As if he was an outsider, observing rather than belonging in the scene. Maybe things were different because he was different, and that hurt his soul to no end.

 

**-**

 

The smell of rain was wafting throughout the crisp summer air, Keith mindlessly swinging back and forth on the abandoned playground the elementary school had. Nobody was there, not even any security guards – considering that it was three in the morning, and he has been lurking around the town idly since the previous night.

 

Staring at the muddy, untied shoelaces of his Converse, Keith let out another sigh, unsure of how many times he’s made the same sound the past two hours he sat there. He figuratively felt like a ghost there, too deep in his depersonalization to realize his own body was his own, and that he could move it on his own accord. Some noise behind the bushes made him startle himself back into reality, grousing silent complaints when he continued his solemn swinging.

 

“Freeze!” A blinding light was flashed in front of him, Shiro’s phone visible behind the abnormally-white color.

 

“Shiro, what the fuck?”

 

“Heard there was a suspicious figure around here, and I thought it would be you, suspicious edgelord,” Keith snorted at his brother’s unintentional insult, focusing his gaze elsewhere as a hint to not bother him. “Did something happen? I got a call from some strange hospital a few days back, and now you’re here, sulking before the sun rises, on a playground at an elementary school you never even attended. You have a _lot_ of explaining to do.”

 

Shrinking in on himself, Keith dug his heels into the mulch-covered ground, halting any movement on his behalf. “It’s nothing-“

 

“Bullshit, there’s blood seeping out of your back.”

 

Shiro pointed at the dark-red patches on Keith’s shirt, a string of muttered profanities following the agitated response. “Fucking hell…” Keith gripped the hem of the over-sized tee, pulling it off in the least painful way. The bulging eyes ogling at his tattoo went unnoticed, the bleeding boy dabbing the aggravated areas blindly. “Nothing can ever get past you, can it?”

 

A small, closed simper grew on the older brother’s lips, leaning back on the rusty swing enough to move back and forth. “Damn right it doesn’t.”

 

Shrugging in thought, Keith twirled the swing’s chains a few times before letting go, Shiro never moving his gaze away from the pondering boy. “I think I fucked up really bad this time… it’s fucking eating me alive.”

 

“Woah, what happened?” Shiro re-positioned himself to face the other, glossed-over eyes staring back at him.

 

“I thought I should change, you know? I ran away once, and I regret that so much, Shiro. And I… I finally thought I was doing alright. Had a job and everything – then Lance came back, and I found myself making the same mistakes once he left. No, I stayed the same in the end, no matter what changes I made in my life. I betrayed him, and I feel disgusting as hell because of that.” Running his trembling hands throughout his greasy, unwashed hair, he was met with silence from the listening party, a quiet way to say ‘continue.’

 

“There… there was something that took control of me, I don’t know what it was – greed, maybe. But I… I had met up with Curtis once I got back, and let him…” Keith’s voice began to waver in the middle of his sentence, unable to speak any more than what he already said. The guilt bloomed once again in his core, mortified by his actions and the consequences they could possibly have.

 

“Did he give you those scars?”

 

“What – no, no, that’s not what happened… I got into a heated fight with Elliot and ended up having to get stitches. Not like I took good care of them, I mean, I got a tattoo like four days after I could walk again.”

 

“Fucking Fischers…” Shiro groaned, stretching out horizontally on the seat without another sound. “Can you forgive yourself for that? Truly?”

 

“I wouldn’t forgive myself even if I was somebody else.”

 

“And why is that any different from all the times you’ve done the same thing while you were with Elliot?”

 

A dagger flung right into Keith’s heart, a weak gasp easing out of him without any previous warning. Shiro had a point – why did it bother him now, instead of the plethora of times before? He loved Elliot, so why was there contrition clawing at his innards each second? Why was Lance the source of everything he did, whether he was consciously aware of it or not?

 

Sure, Keith liked him, and confessed to being in love with him, but this was different from the love he experienced with Elliot. Instead of a million thorns, being with Lance was like being saved from drowning, like a fresh start. As if all the pollution in his lungs was washed away by a breath of fresh air, way more powerful than any inhaler could ever achieve. Lance was more calming than nicotine, and more stimulating than any alcohol he submerged himself with on the worst of days.

 

“ _Shit_ ,” his hand flew up to cover his mouth, teeth biting down at the calloused skin from his writer’s bump. With a drop in his stomach, Keith reached a conclusion after reflecting on his life: one, he was not as fine with this as he seemed. Two, he was so invested in the boy with a smile who could burn down the walls he had built. Three, he was in truly, honestly, completely in love with Lance Ramirez, and Lance Ramirez only.

 

An affectionate, soft expression clung onto the sharp features of Shiro’s, watching the shell-shocked boy become aware of his own feelings. “You should go home, I think something’s waiting for you there.” Leaping off the cheap seat, he looked back at the astonished sibling who was stuck in the aftermath of the sudden epiphany. “Let’s get you back, lover boy.”

 

Shiro helped Keith up from his seat, only wobbling slightly before he supported all of the additional weight. Every tacky love song he ever made fun of was resurfacing inside his mind, perfectly describing how he thought of Lance in that very moment. To him, that scrawny boy was his Wonderwall, but he would deny that from embarrassment if someone said that out loud.  

 

\--

 

The car stopped before they reached his driveway, Shiro glancing over his shoulder to give his pining brother a final smile for good luck. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

 

“Oh my God, stop, you’re so humiliating!” Keith grumbled, slapping himself in the face with his own hand. “You’re more embarrassing than Kelsey and Rick together, and they are the pinnacle suburban mom and dad.”

 

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m better at both mom _and_ dad jokes than our parents are – that’s not the point, go out there and get your **boo thang**.”

 

“Leave!” Keith quickly jumped out his seat, slamming the car door shut so he wouldn’t have to listen to Shiro’s guffaw shaking the entire vehicle. Flicking his dad-brother off, Keith turned around to head for the unlit house of his, hands diving into the front pockets of his jeans from nerves.

 

A recognizable car was parked in the neighbor’s driveway, Pidge shoving Hunk through the broken window that was in Lance’s room. He assumed that they were sneaking into the asshole’s house, considering that his grandson was no longer under his custody. Exhaling all the tension emerging in his heart, Keith approached the horrendously-yellow car that Hunk had, a Hufflepuff sticker planted right by the taillight.

 

Pausing in his tracks, Keith suddenly had the best idea he ever could have thought of under pressure, digging his phone out of his pocket before he could forget.

 

“Pull harder!” Pidge screamed loud enough for Keith to hear, getting shushed by Hunk, who was already inside the dreadful bedroom.

 

“Be quiet, they are asleep!”

 

“Like I care, I’d choke him if he found us!”

 

“You’re rearing for bad karma…” Hunk grunted, exerting more force behind his pulls until they landed not so gracefully on the stained carpet.

 

Sneakily, Keith crept onto the neighbor’s property without permission, not being heard by the lanky boy closing the car’s trunk and placing the suitcases on the pavement. “Hey, Lance!”

 

The boy jolted up from the unforeseen voice, turning around just in time to witness Keith holding his phone up like a boombox, blasting “You Make My Dreams Come True” at full volume on the edge of the street. He could make out the face-palm of disappointment in front of him, Lance’s undeniable beam evident underneath the shield of his fingers.

 

“You’re fulfilling all my 80’s romantic dreams,” Lance giggled, staring at his boyfriend with the fondest of expressions. Letting his arms fall to his sides, Keith took a few steps closer to the pleasantly-surprised fellow, simultaneously overjoyed and anxious to see him. “I didn’t know you came back.”

 

“I didn’t either.”

 

Pretending to pout, Lance crossed his arm to add extra flavor to his terrible acting, Keith rolling his eyes in disbelief about how much he loved this loser. “You little shit,” he faltered, maneuvering his way in the dark to hold one of his boyfriend’s hands. Heat rose to his cheeks and ears, feverish from the simplistic touch and liquored by how much happiness it gave him. “Hey, there’s something I want to try… do you mind?”

 

Gulping in fear, Keith faked the best smile he could, ultimately looking as if he was mocking the other’s idea. “Sure thing.”

 

The taller boy gave him the cheesiest, friendliest mien possible, guiding him in the damp dark of the early hours. Both backyards that connected to each other were now separated by another fence, the image of that old man angrily barreling it into the ground making Keith chuckle to himself in pettiness. However, that prideful sensation dissolved as soon as Lance directed him to look up at the stars, the night sky clearly showcasing the brightest of stars – something that wasn’t easily seen in the city.

 

“I figured you’d like it… but come on, there’s an even better place to view them,” Crinkles formed under Lance’s eyes while he snickered in the cutest way, letting go of Keith’s hand and heading over to the oak tree in his grandfather’s backyard.

 

Before he could comprehend what was going on, Lance climbed half-way up the tree, moss falling to the muddy ground whenever it made contact with the adventurous boy. “W-w-what the hell are you doing?!”  

 

Crooking his head the farthest he could, Lance’s giddy visage sent goosebumps down the other’s chilly arms, brushing off any residing moss from his hair. “Dude, you have to get higher up to see amazing sights in the sky. You might be able to locate a few constellations or planets, too!” His legs stretched out to a far-away branch, swinging himself onto it in only a matter of seconds. Just watching someone else do it sent worry down Keith’s nervous system, shying away from the spectacle.

 

“I’m… I’m actually afraid of heights,” Keith confessed, dawdling with his thumbs from nervousness.

 

“… You’re afraid of heights, but you flew around the world?” Lance questioned, getting the world’s nastiest bitch face in response from his accidentally-insensitive inquiry. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out that rude… it’s just surprising.”

 

“Well, I don’t want to be made fun of that.”

 

“I-I’m not… here, hold on,” Lance held out his index finger for Keith to see, followed by him carelessly jumping down to the branch underneath him. “Grab my hand, I’ll pull you up. It won’t be as scary as you think, trust me: I gotchu’.”

 

The scratched-up hand reached out for the fretful boy, who gawked at it in doubt. Keith Kogane, terrified of high places, who needs to mentally prepare himself for each flight he goes on, climbing up a tree? As if.

 

“Shit, shit, he’s awake!” Lance whispered-screamed, Keith turning around only to be met with a yellowish light peeking out of the old man’s bedroom. Suddenly, the thought of being caught frolicking around with his own boyfriend by a homophobic veteran was way more frightening than heights, Keith quickly clutching onto Lance’s hand and being pulled up to the dainty branch.

 

Vigor clashed with his fears, his heart thumping horrendously fast for using a minimal amount of energy. The cracking sounds made him flinch in worry, clinging onto Lance’s arm for dear life. “It’s fine, that’s just the two fools down there sneaking out of my bedroom.” Keith’s opened his shut eyelids to make sure he wasn’t lying, and indeed, Pidge was dragging Hunk out of the smashed window, closing it back up with the disgusting duct tape it had on for months. “See?”

 

Slowly but surely, Keith acknowledged Lance’s comment with a nod, tilting his head back to concentrate on the supposedly-magnificent sights above him, a wave of unexplainable awe striking down his stomach. The boy was not lying, he could really view a lot more up here than on the ground, the duo pointing out the bundles of constellations and planets that were visible in the clear sky.

 

“It’s beautiful…”

 

Averting his gaze to the body next to him, Keith noticed that Lance wasn’t watching the amazing sight looming over them, but was completely fixated on him instead, getting all choked up when he got caught red-handed. “You’re beautiful.”

 

His eyebrows shot upwards from the unexpected compliment, frozen in his spot on the suspiciously-thin branch. Lance’s fingers rested on top of Keith’s curled-up ones, setting up the mood for a romantic kiss – the boy leaned in towards the shocked one, lips puckering up before he reached the other pair.

 

The gesture was met with a cold palm, Lance’s eyes opening wide to silently question the action. “I can’t. I… no.” Dejectedly, Keith scooted away awkwardly, shoulders tensing up from his chronic problem with overthinking things. “Lance, I can’t… I did something really wrong.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Unintentionally, his voice cracked from being concerned, eager to hear about whatever was afflicting the other’s mind.

 

Taking a huge inhale, Keith glanced back up at the canopy of leaves shrouding the night sky, figuring out what to say before word vomit attacked once again. He deserved the truth, and nothing but the truth, after he’s been lied to and deceived for so long – “I betrayed you… I-I mean, I came back here, right? And I made such a stupid fucking decision and I _hate_ myself for that because you deserve so much better than me, I’m just a disaster waiting to happen and I don’t want to ruin you, too. I did it for the money, but it was so damn disgusting and I wished I stopped myself before it happened but I couldn’t, and _fuck_ just thinking about it makes me want to puke and it’s all my fault in the end because I can’t control myself from being destructive—“

 

“Keith, it’s okay.” The inevitable word-vomit came to a stop, Keith boring into the other boy in astonishment. How could he stay calm like that, in such a serious conversation? Should he be worried, grateful, or scared for his life? Would he be _hurt_ for _hurting_ him? “Even… even if it’s something I don’t understand, I don’t want you to feel bad for talking about it. It’s your job, right? And as long as you make the decision to do it on your own, for yourself only, I can grow to accept that. I might not right now completely, but I can learn to respect that choice. I’m just glad you’re being open about it and telling me, that’s a step forward, don’t you think?”

 

“Lance…”

 

“Hey, don’t cry, really it’s alright!” Lance wiped off the tears gushing out of his trembling partner, resting his forehead on the other’s in lieu of getting his point across. “I forgive you, so you can forgive yourself, okay? You’re not in the wrong, and you’re not an anathema or some twenty-first century Hester Prynne for doing that. I’m not mad-“

 

“I really fucking love you, Lance Ramirez. And you're too good for me, and yet I still l want you in every possible way - scratch that, I’m madly in love with you, to the point where it’s so unfair. I want to grow old with you and have dates every Saturday after you come home from work and go on vacations to the Bahamas and get like fifteen cats and care for them like our own kids. Hell, we’d live in some weird ass apartment and I’d adopt your last name and we’d annoy the neighbors with how much PDA we have and not fucking care one ounce about their repulsion and laugh in the faces of those who find it strange. If I have you, I could care less about everything else… it’s sickeningly sweet being with you, and _fuck_ if I’ve become a sap I don’t _fucking_ care because I _fucking_ love you, you _fucking_ asshole.”

 

Uncontrollable laughter came from the other party, whose hands cupped both sides of the rosy face in front of him. “You’re killing me.” A gentle peck was placed on the tip of Keith’s nose, who was behaving unnaturally bashful and turning an even darker shade of pink. “Sounds like a plan, Mr. Ramirez.”

 

“God, you suck.” Keith shyly duck his head further down, the two giggling madly. His touch trailed up to Lance’s hand, flipping it over and fitting his own fingers in the spaces between the tanned ones. A band of hearts was traced on the mocha-skin underneath him, Keith grinning at his beloved, precious person without a care in the world, admiring all the quirks and qualities Lance possessed.

 

"Honeymoon schmoneymoon, we need to get the hell out of sight before your grandfather comes back!" Pidge hurled a bunch of rocks up at the couple high in the big oak, landing a few hits before they snapped out of their idealistic world. 

 

"Oh, fuck," the two deadpanned, nervously gnashing on their teeth in thought. Reality was never as sweet as they hoped for, but now there was an additional reason to be happy: they were both mutually in love. Hurriedly sliding down the tree, they never let go of the other's grasp, darting into the woods with the two outsiders for coverage from an irate elder at five in the morning. "He's not invited to the wedding," Keith jokingly whispered, the trio of friends overhearing and bursting out into hysterics. 

 

Hunk clapped his hand over the brown shoulder next to him, still unable to control his laughter. "Lance... my dude, you have my blessings as best man." Flushing any sign of color out of his face, Lance stared blankly at the corny friend of his, getting roasted by Pidge for being so stunned at the statement. Nonetheless, the chilly palm that belonged to his other half was still laced with his own, a comforting squeeze bringing back all the joy he previously felt. An authentic smile was flashed to the flustered boy, Keith moving his lips to silently word out 'you're adorable.' His behavior always managed to amaze the easily-embarrassed boy, who timidly rubbed underneath his nose from being complimented way too much in one night. To Lance, Keith was still an enigma to him, but now he was _his_ enigma to find out, and Lance felt pretty damn lucky for having someone special to love for the rest of his life. He truly was the sole absolute in Lance's sea of uncertainties. 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya girl is sick and on writer's block lowkey and emo bc she got rejected after pining a whole year but you knOW THATS FINE TOTALLY. ACTs are in a few days too and then A VERY MUCH NEEDED break 
> 
> hope there aren't any errors, please call me out if there are! and hopefully you enjoyed this poopy, unconventional book! 
> 
> tabitha is OUT


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